


Comfortably Numb

by The_Lonely_has_always_had_me



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: ...ish, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, But I never do it without giving him the happy ending this boy deserves, But it's going to be heavy on the angst for quite awhile, Cabin Fic, Canon Asexual Character, M/M, Rated conservatively for a few later scenes, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period, but I'm really gonna put Martin through it in this one, look i'm sorry, one small story arc likely to become non-canon compliant rather quickly as s5 progresses, otherwise let's call it canon-adjacent, self destructive behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:15:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23502970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Lonely_has_always_had_me/pseuds/The_Lonely_has_always_had_me
Summary: Honestly, it made sense that anger was the first to return.  It had been the last to leave him.  The thing he had clung to until the moment Peter had flung him out of reality and onto that beach.Jon and Martin deal with the aftermath of The Lonely and learn that there are consequences to pissing off an eldritch power.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 185
Kudos: 397





	1. Anger

**Author's Note:**

> After the season 5 trailer, all I wanted was to give these boys some fluff...instead this is what came out. It's mostly done; so updates should come every few days. Chapter count may change as some things are coming together better paired. Rated for some adult-themed humor, honest communication, and umm, close calls. Also it seems that angry Martin is particularly sweary.
> 
> CW that Martin is not in a good place in this, and he's going to lash out and react strongly to certain things.
> 
> All my thanks to my wonderful Beta-reader, gummies, who makes all things better. :)

Honestly, it made sense that anger was the first to return. 

It had been the last to leave Martin. The thing he’d clung to until the moment Peter had flung him out of reality and onto that beach. Anger had burned the others out of him, the ones that had left him breathless and yearning. Had filled the hollow spaces left with contempt. For Peter and Elias and all the others that moved people like nothing more than chess pieces in their twisted games. For the Fears and the ridiculous cycle of pain to which he was increasingly convinced they were absolutely indifferent. For the people he had gotten into this to save, who seemed not only utterly unappreciative, but actively trying to make his work as difficult as possible. For Jon, who finally saw him, who finally...but it was too late.

And then the beach. One moment he had been standing in the tunnels, listening to Elias taunt Peter about his loss, and then he was on his knees on the cold sand. The anger had vanished, and there was simply nothing left to replace it. Martin had no concept of how long he had knelt there, reveling and despairing in the utter emptiness. Somehow feeling all of it and none of it at the same time. He remembered the moment Jon had appeared before him, a blurred memory in the fog. He had felt a flash of heat in his chest; an old scar aching at the thought of yet another loss.

_ “I really loved you, you know?” _

He barely registered his own voice. It didn’t matter; he was talking to a ghost of a feeling. Then something had broken through the haze. Suddenly Jon’s face was there in startling clarity, asking him to acknowledge that it was all real. He had expected everything to come rushing back in as Jon led him out of the fog, but it hadn’t. The emptiness stayed with him through the chaotic escape from the Institute, kept him mute through the long train ride north, and now, made him stand frozen just inside the door of a small stone cottage as Jon moved hastily around the room, uncovering furniture and opening windows to let out the stale air that filled the tiny space.

Martin’s gaze tracked him, noting just how many times Jon’s eyes would also seek him out, as if making sure he was still there. Each time they found him successfully, there was a momentary softening of the crease in his forehead and the corner of his mouth turned up in a shy smile. It was a smile Martin had never expected to see from that face, let alone turned in his direction. He knew that there was something he should feel in response, but he didn’t anticipate it to be the sudden flare of anger that burned in his chest where nothing had been a moment prior. 

Another quick glance and flushed cheeks left his hands shaking, curled into tight fists at his side. “Stop looking at me like that.”

His voice was nothing like he remembered it. There was no stammer; the treble had deepened into something quiet and powerful.

Jon flinched and turned to face him fully. “What?”

Martin scrubbed at his eyes with his palms. “Please stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” 

His hands dropped to his sides. “Like you want something from me. Like there’s anything actually left of me for you to even have.”

Jon stepped towards him, but stopped when Martin tensed. “Martin...I don’t...I thought…”

“You thought what? That it would all just be okay? That after nearly a year of fighting for all of this on my own that we’d walk out of the fog, and everything would just be better? That I’d be the same love-struck idiot I was when you left me in the Archives to go ‘save the world’? You  _ died _ , Jon! And Tim died, and Sasha died. And I don’t even get to fucking mourn her because what I miss is just the thing that killed her and wore her life. You all left me alone and then my mom died. Taking me out of the Lonely didn’t take it out of me.  _ Jesus, _ I wasn’t even a challenge for Peter. I was a God damn natural at it. There was nothing left of me before, and there’s even less now. At least then, I wanted something- anything! Now, it’s just...it’s just too much. You look at me like that, and all I want to do is disappear again.”

There was silence for a moment before Jon broke it with a raw, cracked voice. “Right. Past tense.”

Martin looked up at him finally. “What?”

“On the beach, you said you loved me.” There was no accusation in his voice, just a soft resignation. “Loved. Past tense.” Jon worked hard to keep his expression blank, but Martin could see the quick rise and fall of his chest and the slight sheen of wetness in his eyes.

Had he ever seen Jon actually cry?

The thought managed to calm a bit of the fury in him. Martin sank down onto the couch and buried his face in his hands. “Fuck, Jon. I don’t know. I don’t even think I know what that is anymore, if I’m capable of feeling something like that now. I’m just numb. I feel hollow, and the only thing that seems to change that is anger. So, that’s what you get now: empty or pissed. Pretty sure that’s not what you were hoping for when you pulled me out.”

Jon took an involuntary step towards him. “You say that like you expect me to regret it. That’s not ever going to happen, Martin. I don’t care if you hate me now; I could never have left you there. There is no situation in which I wasn’t coming in after you.” He sat down heavily on the other side of the couch. “God, I really would have to be a monster to have left you in the Lonely just because you don’t fancy me anymore. Lucky for you, I’m only halfway to full monster-dom.” He gave him a weak smile, and Martin huffed out a small laugh.

“I don’t hate you, Jon. I could never hate you. But I don’t know if any of...the rest of it will come back, or if this is all that I am now.”

He could see the calculating going on in Jon’s head, and finally he nodded. “Okay, then we work with that. If things start to come back, then we will deal with them as they come up. If they don’t, then we’ll find a new way forward. You’re here, and you’re as safe as any of us can be right now. That can absolutely be enough for me.” For a moment, his face was set in determination, but it faltered as he looked down at his hands, wringing nervously in his lap. “I meant what I said on the beach. No matter what I may  _ want _ now, I need you, Martin, and that is an entirely different thing. You make me feel more human, and even more than that, you remind me why I need to be, why I need to keep fighting all of this. That there’s a reason I can’t just give in, no matter how much it hurts to...to just be. I’ll do my best to not make this hard on you-  _ harder  _ on you, but can I just be near you? I know we’re stuck here together and that’s probably a silly question, but I think both of us know just how far away someone in the same room can feel. I need to not feel that way about you. Can I just…”

He stammered for a moment, seemingly searching for the right words to ask what he needed to, but they weren’t necessary. The anger had run out of him while Jon spoke and now there was only that hollow ache. He moved closer and reached out to cover Jon’s fidgeting hands with his own. “Of course. Jon, of course I’m here with you.” 

Jon sighed and turned his hand over to intertwine their fingers. “Thank you.”

“You saved my life. I’m here because of you, but I’m also here because I wanted to follow you out. I still don’t know what that means. I think I want to try to find out though. You don’t know me now, and I haven’t exactly been around to know how you’ve changed since the coma. This seems like a good time to fix that.”

Jon grimaced and squeezed his hand tighter. “That sounds remarkably like something Lukas said to me.” He refused to look up at Martin.

“Jon-”

He must have Known what he was about to say, because he cut him off immediately. “Please don’t ask me. Not yet. I’m not ready to talk about what I did to him.”

Something tightened in Martin’s chest, but he just nodded. “Okay.” The loss of the anger had left him wiped of all energy, and he was exhausted. He laid his head on the back of the couch, tugging Jon to lean back with him. He didn’t realize he’d begun drifting off until Jon was guiding him to lay down. He woke up enough to grunt his thanks as a quilt was spread over him and to shift his feet as Jon curled up against the other arm of the couch. 

“Martin?” Jon’s whisper was just loud enough to pull him out of his doze.

“Hmm?”

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

He rested his hand on Martin’s calf, a comforting weight assuring him that he wasn’t alone anymore. Martin was asleep before he could think of a response.


	2. Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next piece returned on their second full day in the cottage. It started with anger, as all things seemed to with him, these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one hurt to write, but I'm happy for the moment with how it came out. So posting quickly before I decide to edit it...again.
> 
> CW for unhealthy expressions of anger and some emotional manipulation from a Fear God that refuses to fuck off.
> 
> As always, thanks to gummies for Beta'ing!

The next piece returned on their second full day in the cottage. It started with anger, as all things seemed to with him, these days. Their first day had been spent cleaning the cottage and making the trek into the village to stock the cabinets. Basira hadn’t answered her phone when they tried to reach her; Jon had left a voicemail that simply said “We’re safe.” 

Martin had enough tasks that day to keep him distracted from the way Jon tiptoed around him, so careful with every word and action as not to provoke him. The same was not true today. It didn’t help that both of them had slept fitfully the night before. That first night exhaustion had caught up with them, and they had both fallen asleep on the couch. Given the aches they’d suffered through as they cleaned, Jon had not put up much of a fight when Martin had insisted they share the double bed. Sleep eluded them for a long while; both conscious of the other one so close. Then, finally, exhaustion pulled Martin under. Only for him to be woken a few hours later by Jon gripping his arm. He pulled himself reluctantly from the calming swirls of fog in his mind, but found them still surrounding him even as he opened his eyes. Jon’s hands were trembling where they clutched at his arm. 

“Martin, stay with me!”

The panic in Jon’s voice brought him awake fully, and the wisps of fog dissipated as he sat up. “I didn’t mean to-” He rubbed his eyes. _“Shit,_ I didn’t realize…”

Jon tugged him back down to the pillow. He wrapped Martin’s hand in a tight grip. “It’s okay. You came back- that’s all that matters.”

They may have dozed after that, but he was sure that neither of them actually slept again- which left them both irritable.

The thing was, Martin was intimately familiar with irritated Jon. He knew how to deal with Jon when he was one small mishap away from an explosion. He did not however have any idea what to do with this Jon. He was every bit his normal crabby self, but whenever Martin would catch him bristling with anger and think ‘Finally!’, Jon would pause and close his eyes. When he opened them, he’d smile tightly at Martin and then just move on.

It was _really_ fucking irritating. 

He found himself pushing to see how far Jon’s patience would go. He’d spent years trying to avoid the man’s ire; it wasn’t difficult to turn that around to find the best ways to provoke him. He made a noise of frustration when Jon had gotten to the point where his hands were trembling in anger, and still all he did was pinch the bridge of his nose and walk away.

“I know that you’re trying to get me to lash out at you, and it’s not going to happen.”

“You never used to have an issue with it. At least _this time,_ I’d deserve it.”

“But you don’t, Martin.” Jon turned to face him again. He didn’t look angry anymore; he just looked at Martin with what could’ve been pity.

_Oh, for fuck’s sake._

“This isn’t a healthy way to deal with the things you don’t want to feel, and I’m not going to be a part of it. I’m not leaving you alone, either. So please, stop pushing.”

Martin cocked his head to the side. “And just what exactly am I avoiding feeling?”

“You went through so much...I don’t think you’ve taken the time to really process-”

“Process?! How the hell was I supposed to _process_ anything? I’ve lost track of how many things are trying to kill us, and I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t afraid. When was I supposed to deal with any of this? Sasha died, and we didn’t even notice. And when we did, I still couldn’t think about her because there was someone beaten to death in your office and you were missing! Then Tim died, and I didn’t get to process that one either because _you_ died, too. Only not really, so not like I could grieve for you, right? You were all gone, and I was alone. Well, except I _wasn’t._ I was stuck with two people who could barely tolerate me and made no effort to hide it. They couldn’t handle that I was sad for what we’d lost; so I just had to stuff it all down when I was around them. So I stopped being around them! I chose the monster over the two of them, because at least he let me be sad. Then the care facility called, and what was I supposed to do? Grieve a woman who hated me until the day she died for something I had no control over? Despite everything I gave up for her, despite the fact that _I didn’t leave,_ no matter how horrible she was to me, she could never forgive me for- for being _his._ Honestly, the only thing I felt when she died was relief!”

Jon stared at him in shock before stuttering out, “I heard the tape with Elias- what he did to you. I’m so sorry, Martin.”

A small part of Martin’s mind recoiled from the bitter laugh that brought out of him. He barely recognized his own voice when he shot back “Not like that was the only thing ever said on those tapes that hurt me.”

There it was. If Jon wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of yelling back at him, that stricken look on his face was Martin’s way in. He’d hit him right where he knew Jon was most vulnerable, his guilt. Then he’d leave just like the others had, and Martin could finally be alone again. He pushed on before Jon could get his mouth to formulate a response.

“I mean, at least I didn’t have feelings for you while you were belittling me where all my coworkers could hear. I bet you can guess when those started, though. It’s so fucking cliché. Literally the first time you showed me the _slightest_ bit of kindness, you had me. And what’s really pathetic is that it was seriously the very least you could offer. It’s not like you invited me to stay on your couch or anything. Didn’t want me dead, but certainly not any closer, right? Oh, but now- now that it hurts me to see it, _now_ you want me. And the whole time you’re around, I can feel you wishing it would come back, that I was more than this, but I don’t think I want it to! When I fell for you, on a good day I got complete indifference, then I had to deal with months of you thinking I was a murderer, and once you finally got it through your head that I wasn’t trying to kill you, you were just _gone._ Then you were dead.” He clenched his fists tighter at his side, and the metal bit into his palm. _Wait, what-_ But his anger overwhelmed the thought before it could take hold. “There is not one single fond memory I have of being in love with you, Jon. So why in the hell would I want those parts of myself back?”

Jon had quit trying to respond. He was just standing there, taking every hit Martin threw at him with tears streaming down his face, breathing in small pained gasps.

“You have brought me _nothing_ but misery.”

There was a small broken sound that Martin could hardly believe came from the Archivist. Jon buried his face in trembling hands.

Almost…

Martin turned towards the door and grabbed his jacket. “Your hands are shaking. You’re too weak already. Basira is going to have to send the statements now- no matter the danger it puts her in. Can’t have our monster starving, can we?”

There was a strangled sob and the sound of Jon hitting his knees behind him.

Martin grinned and pulled open the door.

_NO!_

The thought came with enough force that he paused before stepping out into the swirling fog. But that couldn’t be right...the room had been lit by the sunlight streaming through the windows. And yet, the entire countryside was shrouded in a dense cloud, obscuring everything more than a few feet from the door. A cold, bitter breeze swept through the door, bringing a few curling tendrils with it. Martin stumbled back before any could touch him. His clenched fists opened, and there was a clatter as something hit the floor. He looked down, but couldn’t make his mind comprehend what he was seeing. He picked it up just as Jon scrambled onto his feet. 

“M-martin? What is that?” 

“It was...Peter’s. He wore it on a chain. I never saw him without it.”

Jon sucked in a breath. “The Boatswain’s call. What- where did it come from?”

“It’s been in my hand this whole time, but I don’t know how...I didn’t have it before.” He barely got the words out before Jon snatched it out of his palm and hurled the small whistle out into the fog. Martin made a choked cry and lunged after it, but Jon had stepped between him and the open door. He reached back and held Martin in place with an unnatural strength; the flat palm stopping him with seemingly no effort.

“ **He will never be yours** .” The Archivist’s voice pulsed with power as he stared out into the mist. “ **You are weak without your Avatar, and you will not have him as a replacement. I killed your strongest ally. Do you think I won’t destroy everything you send for him?** ”

There was a blast of arctic air through the opening, and Jon’s skin blistered in all the places where the fog touched him. The Archivist just grinned and slammed the door. The wounds healed even as he turned to face Martin. There was a glowing circlet of green around each of his pupils as he looked up at him. He was still shaking with rage, and it occurred to Martin that he was likely looking at the last thing Peter had seen.

“ **Are you alright?** ” 

The compulsion washed over him, and he immediately stuttered out, “N-no. Jon...I don’t-”

The glow faded, and now it was just Jon in front of him. The tears weren’t even dry on his cheeks, and yet he was looking at _him_ with concern. Martin had to look away; he couldn’t stand to see Jon care right now. He didn’t deserve it. He deserved to be shouted at...left behind. He struggled to breathe as a weight settled on his chest.

Martin remembered this one well. The heaviness that weighed on him with such force it was nearly physical. He had felt it far too often for most of his life, the utter certainty that he had done something wrong. That he had to have done something for his father to abandon him. For his mother to despise him. For the slow but assured disappearance of everyone in his life.

Guilt was an emotion that Martin had known well before the Lonely had stripped him of it. “You should have let it have me.”

Jon’s answer to his pained whisper was vehement. _“Never.”_ He stepped forward to grip Martin’s arms. “That is not where you belong. That is not who you are. Even if you aren’t the same person- even if you are never the same person again, _that_ is not your future.”

“How? How can you be kind to me right now?”

“Because you deserve kindness...especially from me.”

“Oh, God, Jon- but the things I said. I was awful-”

“I’m hardly one to judge when it comes to saying terrible things to someone. At least, you didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

Martin’s head snapped up to stare at him. “None of it was true! I didn’t mean it, any of it. I don’t know why I said those things...I didn’t mean it, Jon.”

“Not meaning it doesn’t make it untrue. I am a monster, and I was unspeakably cruel to you when you’d done nothing to deserve it. And it is unfair of me to want something from you now, when you were...you were _right there_ all that time, and I didn’t see it until I was too late.” His voice was trembling now, and a fresh tear slipped down his flushed cheek. Martin tried to pull him close, but he resisted.

“You are _not_ supposed to be the one comforting me! We just pulled you away from the Forsaken again, and I can’t even hold it together long enough to take care of you.”

“After what I just did, you should hate me. If you aren’t going to do that, then please, Jon, please just let me…”

This time when he tugged, Jon fell against his chest with a pained sob. He buried his face in Martin’s jacket. “I’m sorry...I’m so sorry, Martin. I don’t want to hurt you, but that’s all I do, isn’t it?” He said more, but it was lost in the choked sobs. 

Martin wrapped his arms around him and just held him. He didn’t try to comfort him; he’d said enough for the moment. Jon’s tears had soaked through the material of the soft hoodie and the shirt under it before he started to quiet.

“Martin?” Jon’s voice was muffled, but understandable again.

“Hmm?”

Jon tilted his face up to look at him with red-rimmed, bleary eyes. “I didn’t own a couch.”

Martin stared at him as he tried to make sense of the words, and when he did, he burst out in laughter. Jon was smiling a bit too, but he still looked guilty. “I can’t promise I would have offered it to you if I had one at the time...I just didn’t think like that…”

It took a moment for the laughter to subside enough for him to respond. “But I know how you do think. Why did you offer to let me stay in Document Storage? Not just the Archives, but that room specifically.”

“Because it was the safest room I knew of. Might as well have been designed to keep the worms out. You would have been just as vulnerable anywhere else as you had been in your flat.”

Martin pulled him close again and rested his chin against Jon’s forehead. “See, I knew that. I understood why you did it...and yet, for some reason I threw it back at you like it was something you did wrong. It wasn’t true, just like all the other things I said. I’m sorry; I don’t know why I was trying to push you away. I told you I’d be here with you, and I meant it.”

“It was the Lonely. And that damn whistle. I took something powerful from it, and it wants something just as powerful back.”

He shook his head in denial. “But I’m not- I’m nobody, Jon. Why would it want me?”

This time Jon pushed away from him to look him fully in the eyes. “Do you know how many years it took Peter Lukas to develop the powers you have after just months? Like you said, you were a natural. Add to that the strong connection you have with the Eye, and the fact that pulling you in would make both The Beholding and me vulnerable. You’re the most coveted thing of an Eldritch power, and it’s not going to give up easily.”

Martin’s breath caught as the green flashed in Jon’s eyes again.

“But neither will I.”


	3. Jealousy, Shame, and a Dash of Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it turned out, guilt was not the only emotion to return to him that day. While fixing lunch, Martin discovered a few things they’d missed during their market run the day before. Jon wasn’t keen on letting him make the trek alone after the morning’s close call. “Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to try to reach Basira again. I’d like to know if she’s had any contact from Daisy.”
> 
> There was something in the way he said the name that caught Martin’s attention. Something a bit more than concern for a colleague.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tired. And the world is scary. But writing this everyday when I come home from being 'essential' *eye-roll* is helping. I hope that maybe reading it can help a little if some of you are also tired or isolated or scared, or all of the above. Take care of yourselves and stay safe.
> 
> I can't really think of any CWs for this one, except Martin has a green streak a mile wide when someone else tries to touch his things. If you notice something, please feel free to leave a comment, and I'll update this.
> 
> gummies takes awkward sentences and spins them into something beautiful when I can't look at them anymore. Best. Beta. Ever.

As it turned out, guilt was not the only emotion to return to him that day. While fixing lunch, Martin discovered a few things they’d missed during their market run the day before. Jon wasn’t keen on letting him make the trek alone after the morning’s close call. “Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to try to reach Basira again. I’d like to know if she’s had any contact from Daisy.”

There was something in the way he said the name that caught Martin’s attention. Something a bit more than concern for a colleague. Other than the one afternoon she’d shown up at his office door trying to escape the quiet (and his subsequent banishment of her when she’d attempted to do it again), he’d had basically no contact with Daisy since Jon had pulled her out of the Buried. However, that one interaction had made it abundantly clear something had changed. Enough for Jon to say her name with that unfamiliar mix of fondness and worry, apparently.

The cottage had just disappeared behind the first rise when Martin worked up the nerve to ask about it. 

Jon was still looking off into the distance, but a soft smile curled his lips. “Daisy...she’s pretty much the only reason I made it through the last few months. I never expected that- never expected her to be so much more than she had been. I know some part of Basira, deep down, thinks she’s less now, but she’s wrong. The Hunt had stripped so much away to keep her addicted to the chase. And it was more than just being stuck in the Buried together- I finally had someone there who, who  _ got it, _ who understood what it was like to wake up and find out that everyone else has moved on without you. Who understood just how damn hard it is, everyday, to fight what you  _ are. _ I...didn’t have to hide the hunger from her, and she could stop pretending with me. She could be as weak as she needed to be without being ashamed. She’d come to my office whenever Basira was busy or away, and we’d drink or talk, or drink  _ and _ talk.” He chuckled. “I wouldn’t suggest that, by the way. She can put away a surprising amount of whiskey with no side effects, and has no qualms about using her interrogation skills when you don’t have the same luxury. She knows things about me I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone.”

Martin tried to return the laugh, but he knew it came out strained. “I didn’t realize you two had gotten so close. What did Basira think of that?”

Jon was looking at him closely now, but shrugged in response. “She seemed fine with it. It’s not like she was going to be offering that kind of comfort to Daisy. She was focused on getting her body better, which is why Daisy came to me when her hands were shaking with the withdrawal. She didn’t want to disappoint Basira, but she’d had a knife to my throat before...she knew my expectations of her were, ah, significantly lower.” 

Martin hummed in response, but he didn’t- couldn’t- return Jon’s smile. He looked ahead down the dirt road, but he could still see Jon staring at him in confusion. He seemingly decided not to push it and returned to scanning the countryside. The rest of the short walk into the village was spent in tense silence. With every step, Martin seethed inside. This wasn’t like the normal, all-encompassing anger he dealt with daily. This wasn’t the fire of rage, but instead an acidic burning narrowed down to a pinpoint target. 

_ Daisy. _

The crooked cop who had gunned down Mike Crew and taken Jon prisoner. The woman who had given Jon the scar on his neck that turned white whenever he was cold and was  _ proud _ of it after! The person Jon had risked his life to rescue after waking up from a Goddamn coma.  _ She _ got to be his friend. While Martin had been isolated (trying to save all of them!), she and Jon had been fucking chatting in the basement.

This was the same ice-cold feeling through his veins while his chest burned as when Tim had gleefully told him that Jon and Basira were dating. Precious things were rare in Martin’s life, and he held onto them fiercely when he found them. Jealousy was an ugly emotion, and he wasn’t proud of it. But that didn’t make it burn with any less intensity within him.

He waited until they were just past the first buildings of the village before he said as casually as he could, “Why don’t you go call Basira while I grab the stuff from the shop?”

“The whole point of walking together was so that you wouldn’t be alone.” 

There was an edge to Jon’s voice now.

Martin waved him off. “You remember how curious the storekeeper was. She’ll probably hover over me the whole time asking me questions. I won’t be alone, and I won’t be more than a few minutes anyway. I’ll be fine.”

Jon stared at him for a moment before pursing his lips. “Fine.” He turned and headed down the street that led to the small phone box they’d found yesterday. 

Martin watched him hunch his shoulders and tuck his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket before turning towards the store that doubled as the only grocery store and post office in the area. He got the items quickly, and as he predicted, Maggie chatted with him the whole time. She even wrote down several items he couldn’t find and promised to try to have them in stock the next time they came down from the hills. He tried to hold up his side of the banter, but his answers started to become more clipped. He wasn’t used to talking to others yet, and the acid burning in his chest wasn’t helping him to concentrate on the effort. Finally, he thanked her and made his escape with most of the things they needed.

He found Jon leaned against a wall where they had separated. He was chewing nervously on a nail and didn’t notice Martin approach. He jumped when Martin called to him.

“Any news?”

Jon shook his head, continuing to stare at the ground and not looking up at Martin at all. “No...there’s no sign of her still.”

“And the Hunters?”

“Hmm?” Jon finally pulled himself out of his thoughts and glanced at him.

“The Hunters that were trying to kill you...Basira...the statements. Did you remember to ask her anything other than where  _ Daisy _ is?”

Jon scowled at him; his voice was biting when he replied. “Basira is safe; she’s still working with the police. She’ll send statements as soon as it’s not a crime for her to remove them. There’s been no sign of the Hunters. And my  _ friend _ is still missing. Is that the order you would have preferred me to give them in?”

Martin scowled back. “I don’t know what you’re-”

But Jon spoke right over him. His chest was heaving with all the anger he had refused to show that morning. “It seems like you want me to feel guilty about my friendship with Daisy, and that is not going to happen, Martin. During a horrible time, I had someone who made it just the slightest bit less terrible, and unbelievably, I could offer her the same. I will not regret taking what little comfort I could while also helping someone else. Someone who deserved it. Someone who willingly walked back into her own hell not just to save Basira, but to buy me time to find you. Because she was-  _ is  _ my friend, and she knows what you mean to me. So I get to be worried about her!”

The acid was gone. It had been replaced by the leaden weight of shame that bowed his shoulders and made him hang his head. Daisy was not what she had done in the past, anymore than Jon was just the monster that had ripped statements from unwilling victims. She had saved them. She had saved him. Jon would not have been there to lead him from the Lonely if she hadn’t protected them.

“Of course you do...I’m s-”

Jon had already turned away and was heading back towards the road that would lead them to the cottage. “We should get back. It’s going to rain later.”

Martin followed; his strides were longer so it didn’t take him long to catch up. He glanced over at Jon often as they walked in silence. He could tell from his posture that the anger was cooling, and eventually Jon’s gaze shifted over to him. Martin gave him a small guilty smile. Jon let out a long breath and reached over to take the bag from him.

“Here, let me carry it for awhile,” his voice had lost its biting edge, and he didn’t step back away from Martin after pulling the strap over his shoulder. They were close enough now that their arms would brush occasionally. Martin stared down at the dirt, letting that contact guide him. There was only one small rise between them and the cottage when Jon spoke again.

“Martin?”

“Hmm?” He looked up, but Jon was staring off at something to the other side of him. Martin turned, and-

“Oh. My. God.”

They were the fluffiest things he’d ever seen. The pasture was now dotted with them, but there was one just on the other side of the fence, no more than ten feet from him. He didn’t hesitate to hop the small ditch and approached the ginger-coated highland cow with his hand outstretched. She regarded him indifferently, but nudged her soft nose up into his palm once it was close enough. His small noise of pleasure turned into a genuine squeak of excitement when a tiny calf stepped out from behind her. He knelt down to meet the small creature at eye level. It approached him curiously, and after a generous amount of scritches behind its soft ear, pranced off, occasionally springing into the air. Martin threw his head back and laughed in pure joy.

“Jon, you should come say hello!” He looked over his shoulder just in time to see Jon slipping his phone back into his pocket. He adjusted the strap of the bag and smiled at Martin.

“This is plenty close enough to those horns for me.”

“But they're so soft!”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

A few of the other cows had taken notice and wandered over, likely to see if there was any food being offered. Martin took a few minutes to greet each one. Most had been assigned names by the time Jon reminded him of the cold items in the bag.

* * *

That night, Martin made dinner as the rain pattered against the window panes. He asked Jon to set a timer on his phone, so that he’d remember to check the vegetables roasting in the oven. Martin could smell them now. Jon had gone to the bathroom; so he leaned over to press the home button on the phone and check the timer. He saw himself on the screen.

Jon had snapped a picture of him today, while he’d been distracted. Martin was kneeling down, scratching behind the calf’s ear. He was smiling, and his face was softened in a way he hadn’t seen in a very long time. 

Jon hadn’t just taken the picture. He’d set it as his homescreen. There was a spark of warmth in Martin's chest. The feeling faded quickly, but it still brought a smile to his face. He may not have felt it, but for the first time, he could actually imagine how the old version of himself would have reacted to something like this. He laughed as he headed into the kitchen, picturing the red-faced, sputtering mess he would have been.

When the timer went off a few minutes later, he leaned back to watch Jon pick up the phone and press the button to silence it. There was a small smile- one he clearly wasn’t meant to see- as Jon stared at the phone for a moment, before getting up to help him finish with the dinner preparation.

* * *

Dawn was only an hour or so away when the Forsaken grabbed hold of what small tendrils of mist were still in Martin's heart and  _ pulled. _ He came out of a dream of being crushed in a crowd of people, gasping and already reaching for the fog. Jon’s hand gripped his shoulder, but Martin cried out and scrambled away from the touch. However, the bed was not a large one, and he tumbled off the edge in his panic. He never hit the floor. At least, that’s what he imagined Jon saw, because Martin found himself on the floor of a different bedroom. Or rather, the same bedroom, just...Away. He never knew how to explain it, but pulling the fog around himself, slipping by others unnoticed, the power took him to this in between place. Not reality, not the Forsaken. Just somewhere he was blissfully alone.

Everything around him was blurred into soft outlines- including Jon, who was calling out desperately for him. Martin watched him go still, and here he could see the emerald glow around the Archivist’s head as he reached out for the path. The green circlets were back in his eyes when he opened them, suddenly in sharp focus, kneeling on the bed.

“Martin,” Jon sighed in relief. He shifted to move off the bed, but Martin scooted further away and held out his hand to stop him.

“Please...it’s too much! Just- I need to stay here.”

Jon looked around himself for the first time. “This isn’t the Lonely.”

“No, it’s just...Away? That’s what I call it, at least. Please, Jon. I can’t breathe there, right now. Just let me stay for a little while.”

Jon frowned at him, but sat back on his heels to let him know he wasn’t coming any closer. “It’s fighting back.”

“I know, and I’m not going to give in. But...this place isn't the same, I don’t think it can reach me here, either. I promise I’ll come back. But I can’t take it right now.” He wrapped his arms around himself, but it brought no warmth.

Jon hesitated. His eyes were back to normal, now, Martin noticed. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. But I’m keeping an eye on you. And I’m here whenever you’re ready to come back.” With a soft exhale, Jon’s form blurred again.

He kept his word. Over the next several hours, Jon came back to the bedroom to check on him many times. His eyes would glow just long enough for him to see Martin, still in the same spot where he'd left him. Then he would nod and go back to whatever he was doing. Eventually, Martin followed him out of the room. Still Away, he trailed Jon unseen through the cottage. It didn’t take him long to notice that no matter what he was doing, Jon kept one hand free, outstretched and waiting. 

Jon was awkwardly making a sandwich one-handed for lunch when Martin laced their fingers together. Jon smiled, but didn’t look up at him. “Welcome back.”

Martin stepped forward and pressed his face down onto Jon’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. Jon squeezed his hand.

“Don’t be. You came back, and that’s all I care about. I told you it wasn’t going to give up easily,” he pulled Martin’s hand up to press it against his chest, “but we won’t either. I’m here, Martin. That’s not going to change”

On the counter, Jon’s phone lit up with the timer for the tea he’d been steeping (two cups, of course). Martin reached out and silenced it before he could. He traced a finger down the picture. “That really was a good cow.”

There was a pause before Jon responded. “Yes...the cow. That is definitely why I took that picture. One good...cow.”

Martin giggled, and he felt it when Jon sucked in a sharp breath at the sound. He could hear the grin in his voice when Jon added. “We're going to have to find more of these good cows.”


	4. Contentment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It truly was nearly perfect here. The day was still hot- enough so that it slowly warmed his cool skin and brought droplets of sweat to Jon’s temples- but the breeze was strong up in the hills. It ruffled his hair and caused the leaves above him to flutter. Martin could feel the sunlight dancing across his skin as it shone through the shifting breaks in the foliage. He folded his hands over his chest and listened to the birds exalting above him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear the words are breeding when I'm not looking. Each chapter is getting progressively longer. This thing is so much MORE that it started out as. 
> 
> CW this time for mentions of a canon murder-by-compulsion and the Lonely being a sore loser (i. e. forced self-esteem issues and lashing out). 
> 
> Praise be to gummies! Thank you for Beta'ing this monster.

Martin tried to remain in his comfortable spot on the couch after Jon declared that it was ‘too damn hot in this house’ and stormed out, book in hand. After a week of the temperature steadily cooling, summer had decided to rear its ugly head one last time. The day was disgustingly humid, and not a single window in the cottage seemed to be at the right angle to catch the slight breeze outside.

He tried to ignore how still the air went the moment he was alone. Within a few minutes, the sounds of rustling grasses and birdsong that had been drifting pleasantly through the open windows were muffled, and his skin, which had finally felt warm in the stifling heat, began to chill again. Before Martin's legs could go completely numb, he conceded defeat and stumbled out the open door.

Rubbing his arms and squinting in the blazing sunlight, he turned a small circle to look for Jon. When Martin finally spotted him, he was sitting in the shade at the base of a tree on a slight rise a few hundred feet away. Martin trudged over slowly. The Lonely faded as he approached and disappeared entirely when Jon looked up at him and smiled. The smile gave way to a familiar furrow between his brows as he looked closer.

“Martin, are you okay?”

He shrugged, arms still wrapped around himself; he wasn’t quite able to meet Jon’s eyes. “It was quiet,” he admitted softly, and Jon understood immediately.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think-”

Martin shook his head, and Jon stopped. He reached up a hand towards Martin, and he took it, relishing in the heat of Jon’s grip on his icy fingers. Jon tugged to pull him down by him against the tree, but he resisted. Instead he settled himself a bit further down the hill and leaned back to rest his head on Jon’s outstretched legs. He went still just long enough for Martin to worry that he’d pushed it too far, but then he smiled down at him and laid his hand on Martin’s shoulder. His fingers lightly brushed against the skin of Martin’s neck before suddenly pushing firmly into the space.

“Christ, that feels good.”

Martin quirked an eyebrow at him and thoroughly enjoyed the flush that crept up Jon’s cheeks.

“Ah- your skin that is- I mean it’s so hot out here, and you’re...chilly?”

Martin laughed softly and pressed his cheek to the back of Jon’s hand. “And you’re very warm.”

They were quiet for a moment before Jon glanced back to his book. Almost immediately, he was completely submerged in the text again, but his fingers continued to move idly against Martin’s skin.

It truly was nearly perfect here. The day was still hot- enough so that it slowly warmed his cool skin and brought droplets of sweat to Jon’s temples- but the breeze was strong up in the hills. It ruffled his hair and caused the leaves above him to flutter. Martin could feel the sunlight dancing across his skin as it shone through the shifting breaks in the foliage. He folded his hands over his chest and listened to the birds exalting above him.

He wasn’t sure when his eyes slipped closed, but he was aware of the moment the soft sigh escaped his chest. This feeling was not entirely foreign to him, but it had been elusive even before giving himself to the Lonely. Martin’s life had not exactly given him many moments to feel utterly content, but that was precisely how he felt now, with the warmth of the scattered sunlight, the soft grass under his back, and Jon so close.

He made a small noise of disappointment when Jon’s hand moved from his shoulder, but his fingers returned a moment later, carding slowly through Martin’s hair. He cracked an eye open to see that Jon had lowered his book. He was smiling down at him, but Martin could see the tinge of sadness in it.

He let his face ask the question for him. Jon sighed, twisting a lock of hair around his finger. “It’s just that in this light, I can almost see the red in your hair again.”

“I haven’t dyed my hair or anything. It’s still red, Jon.”

“No...no, it isn’t.”

His voice was just as sure as Martin’s, and for a moment, they just stared at each other before Jon’s eyes widened. “You actually don’t know, do you?”

“What are you talking about?” He could hear the note of annoyance in his own voice.

“When was the last time you looked in a mirror?”

“Pretty sure this morning-”

“I mean _properly_ looked, Martin,” Jon cut him off.

Martin paused before reluctantly admitting, “I stopped looking too close. I didn’t like how empty I looked...or that sometimes I could see through my reflection. Is it- it’s really not red anymore?”

“No, it’s browner now. Not even really chestnut...although it’s not nearly as dull now as it was in the Institute.”

Frowning, Martin pushed, “Anything else I haven’t noticed?”

“You’re paler now, which I didn’t really think was possible.” Jon ignored the glare and let his fingertips brush over Martin’s cheeks. “And most of your freckles are gone.”

Martin had hated his freckles for most of his life, but somehow the idea that they had been stolen without him even noticing was highly offensive. His thoughts trailed off as Jon stared down at him more intently.

“Your eyes...They used to be green with brown flecks near the edges. But now, they’re, ah, mostly grey with smudges of blue and green around the center.”

Martin knew exactly whose eyes he was describing, and watched as the realization washed over Jon as well. He pulled his hand away from Martin and slammed his book shut hard enough to startle a bird into flight above them, then stared down at the trembling cover. “I didn’t make the connection. I had never actually met him before the beach.”

After a tense moment with Jon’s harsh breaths and the rustling of the leaves as the only sounds, Martin reached for his hand, and he didn’t pull away. He curled his slowly-warming fingers around Jon’s and pressed them to his chest, feeling the cold there begin to lessen too.

“Will you tell me what happened?”

Martin watched Jon’s burn-scarred hand pass over his tired face. “I don’t think this is a good-”

“Actually, I think outside, in the sun, on a day like this is the perfect time to talk about him. I don’t think I could feel further from him than I do right now.”

Jon finally looked back to him. His eyes lingered on Martin’s for just a moment too long before shifting focus to take in his expression. “Are you sure you want to know?”

Martin nodded but stayed silent, giving Jon time to find the words.

When he did finally speak, his voice was soft and broken. “I didn’t just kill him, Martin. I _obliterated_ him...I willed him out of existence. Nothing for the End to even take.” There were tears brimming in his eyes, but they didn’t spill. He looked at Martin like he was expecting to see horror reflected back at him. Martin was breathless at the confession, but he squeezed Jon’s hand to reassure him. “I know I didn’t mean to- I didn’t really even know it was possible to _compel_ someone to death. But I can’t say that I would have stopped either, and- this is horrible, but I can’t even bring myself to regret it. I know that probably puts one giant check mark in the monster column...but he had hurt so many people and he hurt _you_ and then he took you-”

“What were you trying to compel him to answer?”

Jon’s lip curled in an angry sneer. It made something recoil in Martin; this was not an expression that looked at home on Jon’s face. He stretched his free hand up to brush a thumb against the corner of Jon’s mouth. “Hey, he’s gone. It’s okay now.”

Jon let his lips relax, but his jaw remained tense. “But Jonah isn’t. There was a wager. He just offered you up to Lukas, and if he could get you to join him willingly, he got you and the Institute. I didn’t understand what he meant when I asked him what ‘Elias’ got from it. He said that he got me, which made no damn sense. All I could think was that you had gotten hurt again because something wanted me. I had to at least make it worth something. If I could have learned Jonah’s plan, we could have walked out of there together and stopped it. And maybe you’d be safe. So I tried to make him tell me what Jonah had planned for me, and he refused. It was...not a pleasant experience.”

“Did it hurt him?”

Jon took a moment to respond. “Yes.”

Martin nodded slowly. “If you are a monster, then so am I, because I’m glad it did.”

Jon set his book down on the grass and brought his hand over to run through Martin’s hair again. “There must be hope for me yet then.”

Martin gave him a soft smile before his expression pulled down into a scowl. “I still can’t believe he took me. I mean, of course I realize he is- was an Avatar of some sort of fear god-thing, but after all the work we did together...He was literally the only person I saw some days. And for him to take me out of some sort of childish spite because he lost…”

His voice trailed off as he watched several emotions flit across Jon’s face. “What?”

“That’s not why. Part of it was the wager. He was supposed to take you in with him; I don’t know why, though. But the rest...While he was fighting me, I saw things, Knew things- not the thing I was looking for, of course. He didn’t take you out of spite, Martin. In his own twisted way, he was trying to _save_ you. He thought you’d be safer there.”

Martin considered it for a few moments. “It did hurt less there. But that’s because there was nothing. I may be numb here, but I was completely empty there. I don’t think I would have agreed then, but now, I don’t think losing the pain was worth giving up the rest.”

Jon’s breath hitched and his hand squeezed Martin’s almost painfully tight. “I’m glad to hear that.”

There was an odd buzzing at the back of Martin’s mind. “There’s something else,” he said before he could even consider the words.

Jon’s scrutiny has always been intense, and now it was turned on him full force. “Yes...The Forsaken works by putting each person in a small pocket that will make them feel the most alone. Your Lonely was supposed to be an empty version of London. His was the ocean. He kept you from where you were supposed to go and put you on the beach on purpose. So that you’d be close to him, but just out of reach for both of you. He was using you to feed his god...by torturing himself for wanting you there.”

Martin’s mouth opened, but all he could do was stammer without getting an actual response out. Jon gave him a few quiet moments to process the information.

“Martin?”

“Hmm?”

“How- did you just Know there was more? And did you Know the answer when I came to you about escaping the Institute?”

“I- Maybe? Both times I just felt what I needed to say instead of thinking of the words.”

“How did it feel? Was it-”

“A buzzing...kind of staticky, I guess.”

Jon was frowning now. “He had you reading statements, and the recorders kept showing up. The son of a bitch didn’t even realize he was strengthening you for Elias the whole time. No more statements, _ever_.”

“Jon, it’s fine. I mean I haven’t dreamed about the woman who came in to give the statement about you, and I took that one in person.”

“It’s not just the dreams, Martin!” Jon’s voice was raised now. “They’re awful, but it’s so much more than that...and I don’t want any of it for you. I’m _hungry_ all the time. Even after I’ve just read a statement, if I wasn’t careful, I’d still be just as likely to pull someone’s from them. And no matter how much I hate it, it feels so fucking _good_ to hear their fear. I can’t ever relax, not fully, because that’s when I could hurt someone, and I’m just so tired all the time...”

Martin shifted up towards Jon so that he could pull him into a hug. Jon’s arms wrapped tight around his shoulders. “Please, I can’t watch you go through this- watch it eat away at you the way it has me. I don’t want you to become what I am.”

“Okay, if that’s what you need, then that’s what I’ll do. No more Beholding.”

“Thank you-”

Martin pulled back and turned his chin so they were eye to eye. “Jon, you know I’m not afraid of you, right? I’m not scared of what you can do.”

“How could you not be? After what I just told you I did-”

“Would you ever turn your powers on me like that?”

Jon’s eyes widened. “Of course not!”

“Then why would I be scared of you. If anything, I feel safer knowing that you have at least a chance of matching up against whatever may come after us. I’ve already seen you face down the Lonely itself to protect me. You may be more than human now, but you are certainly human in the ways that matter. I mean, your powers are intimidating, yeah, but the only thing I don’t like about them is how they hurt you. They’re part of you now, and I trust you.”

Jon didn’t respond; he just stared. After a long moment, he let out a slow exhale and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Martin caught the quick movement of Jon’s gaze flicking to his lips before he pushed back and leaned against the tree again.

_Oh._

Jon cleared his throat, but his voice still cracked when he spoke, “Thank you. That helps, actually. I’m a bit tired of disappointing you, and your faith in my humanity gives me something to work towards.”

It took Martin a moment to get his mouth to work. Once again, he was struck by the image of the reaction his former self would have. If there was anything left of that Martin in him, he’d have pressed Jon back against the trunk and kissed him breathless. He could see it clearly, but there was no part of him that wanted to kiss Jon in this moment.

There _was_ something new, however. He wanted to _want_ to kiss Jon. For the first time, he felt the pieces of himself that he’d lost and knew for certain that he wanted to put them back together again.

He stood up and held out a hand for Jon. “I’m getting a bit hungry, and I really need a cup of tea after that conversation. Come with me?”

Jon smiled and took his hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet. 

* * *

This time, the Lonely didn’t wait until he was asleep to attack.

Martin was standing at the stove, heating up the leftover stew for their lunch. His mind, however, was back under the tree. He’d spent a fair amount of time daydreaming about kissing Jon back when their lives had been simpler, but this was different. It wasn’t the fantasy itself that sent the shiver up his spine, but the small spark that wanted his breath to quicken like it used to. He glanced over at the couch. Jon seemed to be lost in his own thoughts.

_He won’t wait for you._

The voice was his own, and he knew without a doubt that it was right. 

_You’re going to ruin this just like everything else. He’s going to realize you’re not worth it, and it’ll be your fault for asking him to wait. He’ll leave, and you’ll be all alone again._

Martin’s breath caught as the wave of despair and...relief washed over him. There was a loud clatter, and he was surprised to see the spoon he’d just been holding now on the floor. Looking down at his hand, he could see the stove through it. Every moment he grew more transparent.

“Martin?” Jon was pushing up from the couch, eyes wide and scared.

As soon as Jon was focused on him, Martin saw the thick wall of fog appear behind him. Before he could make his mouth form the words, Jon was just gone. He took a stumbling step forward, but the mist rose up with terrifying speed from the floor around him. He fell to his knees, breath torn from his chest by the force of the cold as it slammed into him. Martin choked for breath, but the frigid air burned his throat, leaving it raw. He shuddered and tried to curl up against the assault. This was certainly not the muted calm he’d felt the last time he’d been here.

A small noise forced him to peek out from his cocoon. He could just make out Jon kneeling where he’d been in the living room, but there was another Martin standing in front of him.

He heard his own voice, twisted with disdain and malice. “You pushed me away for years, and now that you’re not even human anymore, you honestly think I’d want you? _Go away._ I’d rather be alone than stuck here with you.”

Jon’s head was bowed, and his arms were wrapped tightly around himself. “No, please, Martin-”

“Why are you still here? God, we all would have been so much better off if you’d just stayed dead.”

Jon shuddered, but his jaw was clattering too much to respond. The fog between them began to thicken again. Jon was fading from view.

“Jon.” It came out as a weak croak. Martin couldn’t hear what the other him was saying anymore, but he watched Jon flinch. A tear fell, but it froze before it hit the ground. 

Rage burned in his chest, and he welcomed it. Steeling himself, he sucked in a searing breath, “Let him go.”

The mist swirled around him, and ice began to gather on his hands. He ignored it and forced himself up onto his knees. “Do you honestly think I’d ever serve you if you take him?”

Suddenly, the fog recoiled.

“Jon! I see you!”

The man’s face snapped up at the sound, but Jon only looked at the fog around him desperately, clearly unable to pinpoint where the voice had come from.

It took all of Martin's effort, but he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled forward. The plumes of mist parted before him. Another painful inhale. “That’s not me. I’m here, and I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want to be with you, Jon.”

As soon as he spoke the words, Jon’s eyes focused on him, and he exhaled Martin’s name. The illusion wavered above him but didn’t disappear. So Martin simply walked through it to kneel in front of Jon.

They both reached out and immediately tangled themselves around each other. Jon shivered uncontrollably and pressed his face into Martin’s neck, one hand wrapped around his waist and the other buried in his hair. He whispered over and over that he was there while Martin repeated that he didn’t want to be alone. Martin curled himself around the smaller man, pulling him into his lap and holding him close.

He wasn’t sure when the fog disappeared, only that he slowly began to regain feeling in his fingers as the unseasonably warm day returned around them. Jon’s teeth had stopped clattering, but it seemed he was in no more of a hurry than Martin to move.

He could feel Jon’s lips brush against his skin when he eventually spoke. “That was...intense. Think we did something to piss it off? Surely it couldn’t be that threatened by us having a pleasant day outside.”

Martin swallowed. “I wasn’t positive before, not entirely, but I realized earlier...that I want it back. I want to feel all the things I let go of. I was thinking about it again in the kitchen.”

Jon pulled back to look at him. “Are you sure?”

Martin nodded.

”Okay, then we know our way forward.” Martin smiled down at him, and that must have been the moment Jon realized he was still in Martin’s lap. His cheeks flushed bright red. “Sorry! I’ll just, um-”

Martin opened his arms and let Jon scramble off, but he caught his wrist before he moved away entirely. “Don’t go too far yet. Please.”

Jon covered Martin’s hand with his own. “Of course. Couch?”

A few moments later, they had both collapsed onto the couch, sides pressed tight together and no intention of moving anytime soon. That was, until they smelled the smoke from their forgotten lunch.


	5. Curiosity and Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn’t there yet; he knew he wasn’t actually ready to kiss Jon. But he also knew that if Jon leaned forward right now, he wouldn’t stop him. Not while that gaze pinned him, making him feel utterly seen, like he was the only thing in the world worth looking at.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is chock full of actual communication, almost like these two could be functioning adults. I have several head-canons for Jon's asexuality, all based on my own and several close friends' places on the Ace spectrum. This particular Jon is essentially sex-positive, but far more comfortable with giving than receiving touch. 
> 
> CWs this time for blood/injury, open discussions of sexuality, Martin spiraling (in the normal depressive way, not The Distortion), and the Lonely resorting to emotional blackmail. Oh, and me coming for your fucking Emotions. Like, I hurt myself with a few of these lines.
> 
> I highly recommend checking out gummies stuff if you haven't already. Fantastic writer in addition to being a hell of a Beta-reader. :)

In the few days since the Lonely had tried to take both of them, things had been…quiet. Martin could feel the anxious energy building in Jon. He was doing his best to hide it, but as the numbness in his chest faded bit by bit, Martin found himself more conscious of the world around him, Jon in particular.

He caught the slight clatter of the spoon against the mug, Jon’s hand shaking as he accepted his tea. He felt every time Jon fidgeted on the couch next to him, unable to lose himself in his book as he usually did. Eventually, Martin reached out a hand and rub lightly on Jon’s knee, which was pulled up so close to his chest it looked like he was trying to fold in on himself. Jon stilled immediately. He sighed and abandoned his book, laying his forehead on the back of Martin’s hand.

He was driven to distraction by the number of times the man would absent-mindedly blow a strand of hair out of his face, yet do nothing to fix it, so that it only flopped back into place moments later. Martin went to the bathroom and rifled through the cabinets and drawers until he found a small stash of bobby pins. Jon was sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a crossword puzzle book he had found in Daisy’s nightstand. He'd told Martin he was trying not to Know the answers, but occasionally, he’d hear Jon sigh bitterly and fill in a section. He barely glanced up when Martin set the small pile of clips next to him on the table, but froze as Martin stepped behind him, pulling Jon's hair tie out of the rat's nest and beginning to work his fingers through the knots. Slowly, Jon sat back against the chair, and Martin could see his shoulders relaxing. His nails scratched accidentally against his scalp, and Jon let out a little hum of pleasure. He’d intended to only wrangle the hair into some sort of submission, but now Martin took his time, working through each section until all the tangles were gone, massaging Jon’s scalp when he felt like he had tugged too hard. By the time he pulled it back into a neat ponytail, Jon was slumped down in the chair, eyes half-lidded and breaths even. He responded sluggishly when Martin nudged his shoulder to get him to turn in his seat. Martin chuckled as he knelt down in front of him and grabbed a couple of the clips off the table.

“I’ll have to remember that trick the next time you’re…” His voice trailed off as he turned back. Jon had leaned forward and was  _ staring _ at him. His mouth went dry, and his heart raced at the intensity of it. He was so focused on the eyes that he didn’t notice Jon’s hand move until there was a palm pressed to his cheek. Long fingers stroked the skin on his temple, and he sucked in a breath when a thumb brushed softly over his bottom lip.

He wasn’t there yet; he knew he wasn’t actually ready to kiss Jon. But he also knew that if Jon leaned forward right now, he wouldn’t stop him. Not while that gaze pinned him, making him feel utterly seen, like he was the only thing in the world worth looking at.

He wasn’t sure if Jon caught a bit of his thoughts or if some of his trepidation came through in his expression, but Jon blinked and let his hand fall away. He leaned back, and they both took an unsteady breath. Martin’s hands were trembling when he went back to what he was doing. He found all the strands of hair that were refusing to stay out of his face and carefully pinned them in place. “Better?” His voice cracked as he asked, but he ignored it.

Jon nodded, but wouldn’t look up at him. “Thank you.”

Martin pushed himself back to his feet and picked up the unused bobby pins. He knew Jon was likely to misplace the ones he’d used, so he put the others on the nightstand. When he turned back to the living room, Jon was pacing the floor restlessly. Martin sat down on the couch and watched his steady circuit across the cottage, from the kitchen door to the bedroom and back. Jon’s hands were clenched at his side; occasionally they’d raise like he was going to run them through his hair. He’d stop each time before he destroyed Martin’s hard work and let them drop.

“Jon, why don’t you sit?” Martin prompted after a few minutes. He patted the couch next to him, but instead Jon simply dropped to the floor where he was by the coffee table. He wrapped his arms around himself and pressed his forehead against the rough woodgrain of the old table. 

“I’m sorry.” He sounded terrible.

“It’s alright. Really.”

“No, it isn’t!” Groaning, Jon laid back on the thick rug and stared up the beams of the ceiling. “The last thing I want you to feel right now is any pressure. You should be whoever it is you feel most comfortable as, not who you think I want you to be. But I keep getting distracted. I don’t- I haven’t felt this way in a very long time, and even then it wasn’t-” his hand raised to gesture vaguely between them- “ _ this. _ I’m not used to wanting...Well, it’s just that. I’m not used to wanting at all.”

Something tickled at the back of Martin’s brain. This wasn’t the static of the Beholding; it was more mundane than that. This was the itch that had sent him down an internet rabbit-hole for hours after a tiny piece of gossip from Basira stuck in his brain. He’d emerged with more questions than before and knew he’d never be able to actually approach Jon to get clarification. Curiosity was certainly no reason to go delving into something so private. He hadn’t had the right to pry into Jon’s preferences at the time. Now, however, they seemed to be slowly working their way towards something, and perhaps it would be better if Martin knew what the path forward might look like.

“Would you tell me about that?”

Jon pressed his palms against his eyelids. “I’m sure the office gossip made it to you.”

“It did, but one sentence that I heard from Basira, that she heard from Melanie, who heard it from Georgie, your ex from many years ago, doesn’t tell me anything about you now.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” Jon sat up and rested his chin on his folded hands on the table. “I suppose it is something we should talk about. In case it were to change what you want.”

He could tell from the tone that this was something that genuinely worried him. “Jon, you know I can’t promise you that it’s gonna come back, but I can tell you that there is nothing you can say right now that would keep that from happening.”

His smile was small, and there was still a hint of nervousness in it. “I hope you’re right. Alright, sure...I’m asexual, which means a lot of different things so it doesn’t exactly clear things up any. For me, it means that I’m not attracted to someone the way most people are. I can see that somebody is good-looking- I mean, I knew you were handsome before I actually had any feelings for you.” Martin would have to take the time to process that information later; he didn’t want to interrupt with what would just be a stuttering mess of questions. “The closest I really get to that is when I do care for someone. I want to be close to them, touch them, and be touched, but it’s not about sex. It’s about, I don’t know, the intimacy? Trusting them to be that vulnerable and for them to trust me in the same way. Does that make sense?”

“It absolutely does.”

Jon seemed to relax a little more, and the next words came out a bit easier. “There are parts of the physical side of things I enjoy a lot. Kissing is one of them, if I haven’t made that abundantly clear yet. Some touching, but beyond that, it’s, ah...complicated. I’m ambivalent about it, at the very least. I don’t _ hate _ it, but I don’t ever seek it out for myself. That doesn’t mean that I don’t...get something from it, either. I don’t have any interest in the act itself, but I really like to see the person I lo- the person I’m with feeling things even if I don’t. It’s tied a lot to how comfortable I’m feeling in my own skin that day, too. Sometimes, I don’t want to be touched at all, sometimes I’m perfectly fine, um,  _ helping _ , and rarely, but it does happen, my body allows for...full participation.”

Jon shifted his chin onto one palm while the other hand traced idle patterns in the wood. There was something sad in his expression. “I didn’t know how to say all that back then- with Georgie. Hell, I was still figuring it out. I didn’t know what to tell her about why it was inconsistent, and I think she thought I didn’t want her, that I was forcing myself to do things with her because I couldn’t...I lashed out at her when she pushed to talk about it, because I was embarrassed. I thought something was wrong with me. It- it ended very badly for us.”

“I’m sorry, Jon. I’m glad you can talk about it now.”

“When I imagined this conversation before, I have to say, I thought it’d be a lot more awkward than this.”

“Oh, if it was the old me, it would have been. Honestly, I’d probably be trying not to faint from blushing, right about now. But that part- desire, libido, whatever you want to call it- that’s been gone for a long time. Since before I was even working with Peter, really. Basically since…”

“I died,” Jon supplied for him.

“Yeah. It made sense not to feel anything around that time, and I guess I didn’t really notice that it never came back. Until recently.”

“When I started invading your personal space and staring a bit too much?”

Martin chuckled. “Sometime around then. So, had you actually spoken to Georgie since you broke up?”

“No. I was a bit surprised that she let me in when I showed up on her doorstep in the middle of the night. She and I did talk about it while I was there, and it looked like we were actually going to be able to be friends again until…”

“You died,” Martin offered this time. “I heard that she visited you at the hospital, but we didn’t run into each other when I was there.”

“Yes, she was there when I woke up. She’s the one who saw Oliver Banks on his way out.”

“Who?”

“Right- I keep forgetting you didn’t hear all the tapes while you were working with Lukas. So, do you remember the statement about the death dreams…” Martin listened as Jon explained the important things that had happened while he was gone, and Jon asked questions about what Martin had been doing. It was nice to be able to talk so openly about the work he’d been forced to hide and what the isolation had done to his life. Strange, but nice. Jon seemed to be fully distracted from the anxiety that had him pacing the floor earlier, but Martin noticed that his hands still shook slightly as he gestured, and there were dark bags under his eyes.

“Jon, did you sleep well last night?”

“No...the dreams. They’ve been bad the last few nights. Same dreams as always, but when I’m  _ hungry _ , it- it’s like they can see me more clearly. They talk to me instead of just moving through the nightmare. They...beg me for help or yell, or just stare back at me. It’s- God, it feels awful complaining about this, when it’s got to be so much worse for them, but I wake up exhausted.”

Martin frowned. “Jon, are you-”

“I’m fine, really. It’s been much worse than this before. I can make it until Basira gets back in the Archives.”

Martin nodded, letting the subject drop. After a few moments, he leaned forward to squeeze Jon’s hand. “I was thinking about going for a walk to say hi to Basil. Why don’t you stay here and try to rest for a bit?”

Jon smiled. “We have a few carrots left in the fridge. Give her some extra scritches for me?”

* * *

“Jon? What’s wrong?” Basira’s voice was sharp and loud over the handset.

“Umm, it’s me actually.”

“Martin? Oh, I...hello.”

“Hi. Sorry, I was a bit out of it when we saw you. It took me awhile to find my voice again.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Where’s Jon? Is everything alright? You two aren’t meant to check in for a couple more days.”

“Things are fine. Well, we’re safe at least, but Jon...We need those statements if you can, Basira.  _ Soon. _ It’s starting to get bad.”

“He doesn’t know you’re calling me, does he?”

“No, he’s trying to hide it, and I mean, luckily it’s not like we’ll stumble on somebody out there for him to  _ take _ a statement from. But I don’t want to risk it, and I really don’t want to see him suffer.”

Basira was quiet for a moment. “He’s really happy up there. He talks about you, how things are coming back for you, and I can hear it. So, yeah. Let’s try to keep him from ruining that. Luckily, the Archives were released late yesterday. I can grab a stack and get them in the mail. Should be there day after tomorrow.”

“Thank you...Basira,” Martin hesitated, “I didn’t get to know Daisy that well after the Hunt, but Jon’s talked about her. I- I know something pretty big is missing for both of you. I really hope you find her.”

There was a long moment of silence. Basira’s voice was soft but determined when she responded. “I have to. I have a promise to keep.”

She ended the call quickly after that, saying she’d leave for the Institute now to grab the statements. Martin headed back to the cottage. The cows were in a distant pasture today, and he could just make out the tiny dots of them roaming against the green field. He threw the carrots over the fence for them to find them when they were moved again.

Jon was asleep on the couch when he got back, but Martin immediately noticed his voice, soft and with the cadence of a statement. He could never make out the words well enough to figure out who he was visiting, but this happened every time Jon sank into his Eye-fueled dreams. Martin brushed his fingers across his forehead, sure now that he wouldn’t wake him. Pulling Jon out of someone else’s nightmare was almost impossible. Martin had found it easier- and less jarring for Jon- to simply be there for him when he woke. 

_ Damn. _ He had hoped Jon would actually get to rest. This was the first time he’d seen the dreams claim him during just a nap. Shaking his head, Martin went to the kitchen to start some tea. At least he’d have a cup waiting when Jon woke up to help calm him.

He had just poured the water when he heard movement from the living room. He leaned back and saw that Jon was sitting up now. Something was wrong, though. Martin stepped back so that he could get a clearer view. Jon was curled forward, elbows braced on his knees. One arm was held out awkwardly in front of him, and something dripped in a steady stream from it down onto the coffee table. Martin moved his head a little to get rid of the afternoon glare from the sun through the front windows.

It was exactly what he thought it was. Jon was just  _ staring,  _ watching as the pool of blood grew disturbingly quickly.

He snatched up a kitchen towel and rushed into the living room. “Jon?! What the hell happened?” He shoved the coffee table out of the way and knelt in front of him. Martin pulled Jon’s wrist toward him and pressed the towels to his forearm to wipe away the blood. Jon hissed in pain, and Martin looked down to see fresh blood pouring from three parallel gashes that ran deep across the dark skin.

“It’s not healing...Why isn’t it healing?”

Martin pressed the towel hard against the wounds, trying to stem the flow of blood. Jon winced, but otherwise his expression remained neutral. His voice was flat. “It would seem that wounds from the Hunt don’t work the same.”

Martin’s eyes snapped up to his face. “The  _ Hunt? _ What happened, Jon? Are we-” he pitched his voice down into a desperate whisper, “are we in danger?”

Jon shook his head. “No...it was Daisy.”

“Daisy...wait, did you see her in the dream? I thought you said she hasn’t been there when you’ve come to her part?”

“She hasn’t been, but she sleeps during the day now. The Eye can’t find her while she’s hunting, but this time I happened to be dreaming at the same time she let her guard down.”

“She did this to you from a dream…”

“She didn’t mean to hurt me- I don’t think she did, at least. She was trying to make me leave. She was ashamed.” Martin felt a tear fall onto his hand where it was still pressed against the towel. “She’s like me now, Martin. A monster. But just human enough to know what she’s become.”

“Jon…”

His bottom lip trembled as he tried to choke out, “She- she just kept screaming ‘don’t look at me’.” 

And then Jon broke. Martin maneuvered the arm so it was pinned between them, keeping pressure on the wound, as he pulled Jon to his chest. For a very long time, Jon could do nothing but sob and cling to him. Martin whispered to him, and even found himself pressing light kisses against his hair and forehead. He used his shirt to wipe the tears from Jon’s cheeks when he did finally pull away, lifting the towel to find the wounds were finally beginning to close. He could tell they’d still need to be covered until they had healed completely. Martin left Jon long enough to pull out the suitcase of supplies that acted as Daisy’s first aid kit. For once, he was thankful for her preparedness instead of vaguely intimidated.

He got the cuts cleaned and dressed properly. Jon was quiet through all of it, watching him as he worked. He looked up at him as he was placing the last bit of tape.

“You’re not a monster, Jon.”

“Martin-”

“You’re  _ not. _ I see you, remember, and I don’t see a monster. And- if Daisy feels enough to be ashamed...if she didn’t want you to see her like that, then maybe she isn’t either.”

He looked back down to make sure that everything was in place.

“Martin?”

“Hmm?” 

Jon leaned forward and kissed him firmly on the forehead, lingering there for a moment before shifting down so that his nose slid along Martin’s. “Thank you.”

Martin carded his fingers through Jon’s hair and held him in place. “We’re going to figure this out, okay? We’ll find a way to bring her back.”

Even this close, he could make out the determination on Jon’s face.

“Yes, we are.”

* * *

With all the stress of the afternoon, the blood loss, and the fact that his afternoon nap was anything but restful, by the time evening came Jon was, unsurprisingly, exhausted. They barely spoke during dinner as Jon didn’t seem to be up to the effort. After they’d finished cleaning the dishes, Martin ordered him to get ready for bed. The protests died on Jon’s tongue when he got a look at Martin’s expression. He was sitting up against the headboard when Jon emerged from the bathroom in his faded Ramones t-shirt and flannel bottoms. There was fresh gauze on his arm, but Martin was happy to see the bandage was much smaller. It could likely come off completely by morning.

“I thought some company might help, at least until you fall asleep.”

“Are you staying up?”

“Yeah, I, uh, thought I might try to write.” He picked up the worn notebook that had sat untouched on his side of the bed since they’d arrived.

Smiles had been rare from Jon in the Archives. Martin was still getting used to how easily they came to him here. The softening of the lines around his eyes and the light flush on his cheeks made him look much more his age. “I’m really glad to hear that.”

Jon settled into the bed next to him while Martin found an empty page. He bent one knee up to balance the notebook against; the other leg stretched out, toes brushing against Jon’s knee as he curled up. He’d barely started to tentatively scratch down the first words when Jon shifted and buried his face against Martin’s hip. He paused and looked down at the fist that was clutching at the material of his sweatpants.

“Light,” Jon mumbled in explanation. Martin was happy to hear the words already slurred with drowsiness. A moment later- “S’ok?”

He brushed his hand over Jon’s hair. “Of course.”

Jon made a soft noise and snuggled closer. Martin watched him for the few minutes it took his breaths to even out completely, then turned back to his notebook. He didn’t notice when Jon rolled away from him sometime later.

After an hour, he had maybe three good lines, twice as many that had potential, and over a dozen that had been crossed out with increasing ferocity. He’d been good at this, once, right? He turned back to the beginning of the notebook and flipped through the pages. Skimming like this, it was easy to track the progress of his depression in the words. He stopped on a wrinkled page with a half-finished poem that was barely legible through the tear-stains. It was about a corpse in a hospital bed and the ghost that watched over him. The next page had a few lines at the top that he’d written on the train, headed to bury his mother. They’d been abandoned part-way through, however. Fitting.

The notebook was empty beyond that. Or it had been until his pathetic attempt this evening. He sighed, and instead of setting it back down, he slid it into the drawer of the nightstand so he wouldn’t have to look at it. Martin rubbed absently at his chest. It felt too full, cluttered and stretched with all the things he was expected to feel. He stood slowly and headed for the bathroom, figuring he might as well turn in if he wasn’t going to actually accomplish anything tonight.

His feet stirred the tendrils of fog that were spreading slowly over the floor, but he didn’t notice. He was focused on how much he missed being numb. How had he ever thought he wanted all this  _ noise _ back?

Martin stepped over the threshold, but his feet landed on cold metal instead of the linoleum. He looked around in confusion. The bathroom was not in front of him, and there was no sign of the bedroom behind him. Instead, he found himself on the deck of a ship. It heaved under him in the rough seas, and salt-spray on the wind soon coated his hair. He was on a narrow path along the side of the boat, with a metal wall dotted with port holes to one side and only a thin railing separating him from the roiling ocean on the other. 

He could see a faint light from the back of the ship and headed in that direction. When Martin stepped out onto the back deck, the men gathered there turned to look at him. There were about a dozen of them total, spread out in the space between him and the stacks of containers. No one spoke until a heavyset man with leathery skin and a dark beard stepped forward. Martin’s eyes glanced away from him for a moment as a wall of fog shifted forwards, obscuring the end of the ship. His attention was pulled back when the man reached out a hand to him. He wasn’t trying to shake hands, however; he was offering something to Martin.

The metal of the boatswain’s call gleamed in the man’s hand.

“Captain. The crew is ready for your command.”

Martin shook his head. “There’s been some mistake…” Again his eyes were pulled to where the swirling plumes were nearly to the closest stacks. There was a small noise of despair from the crew, and when Martin looked closer, he could see that many of them were crying.

The man stepped closer and held out the whistle more insistently. There was a slight tic in his cheek as he gritted his teeth. “The Tundra is yours,  _ Captain.” _

The wall rolled past the last container and made its way steadily towards the farthest members of the crew. There was a cry that sounded faded and far off as the first man disappeared. The others flinched, but kept their eyes on him. He looked down at the whistle and knew the power he was being offered, as well as the consequence of his refusal. He closed his eyes and thought of Jon. Martin hadn’t felt this far from him since Jon had been dead for six months. Yet, he could feel the press of Jon’s lips against his forehead from this afternoon, the thumb across his lip…

He looked back to the man.

“No. I’m sorry, but I won’t be your captain. I can’t-”

His words died as the man’s face twisted in hatred. He curled his fist around the call and stepped back. The crew behind him cried out, but the sobs were lost as the fog charged forward, engulfing them all.

Martin sucked in a breath as the wall crashed into him. Static filled his brain as soon as he was surrounded, and when he opened his eyes, there was a glowing green path through the clouds. He stumbled forward a step and reached out a hand. It touched something solid, and he clutched at the door frame. He was back in the doorway of the bathroom. The fog and the ship were gone.

“Martin!” Jon’s frantic voice echoed from the other side of the house. 

“Here,” he answered as loudly as he could manage. 

Jon skidded into the bedroom and rushed over to him. “Martin! Where were you? I woke up, because you were just gone. I-I felt you disappear.” His hands roamed over Martin’s skin as if making sure he was real. “Why are you wet? Is that  _ saltwater?” _

“It took the Tundra...it took the crew. I-I was  _ there, _ Jon. They...it wanted me to be the new Captain, but I- I said no. And it took them all.”

Jon managed to help him to the bed, but it was very late before he finally coaxed Martin into a fitful sleep. He’d clung to Jon, arms wrapped around his waist, face buried against his stomach and repeating ‘I said no, and it took them all’ periodically for hours. Jon spoke quietly to him and stroked along the tight muscles of his shoulders. When he woke sometime later, Jon was still staring down at him. He tugged on his shoulder, and Jon slid down to curl up with him. He whispered against Martin’s hair. “I thought...I thought I’d lost you. I couldn’t feel you anywhere.”

“I couldn’t do it. I knew they were going to be lost in there forever, but I couldn’t stay...I needed to come back to you.”

Jon kissed his temple and laid his cheek against his forehead. “They made their choice. They chose to feed a Forsaken god. It’s not surprising it turned on them.”

“But isn’t that what I just did? I fed it all those people.”

“No. You let it take what already belonged to it. It wanted you to choose to stay after deciding you want to feel again, because  _ that _ would be feeding it.” Jon squeezed him tighter. “Thank you for coming back. I’m glad you found your way.”

He opened his mouth to tell Jon about the path, but his distressed expression under the tree came back to him. “Me too.”


	6. Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were in the middle of the small shop in the village when Martin broke. It started with, of all things, a box of tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So everybody has their own weird little head canons. One of mine is that before he left on his extended kayaking trip, Tim Stoker was no longer allowed to order supplies. He is precisely the type of person who would pay zero attention to quantities. He was asked to order office supplies once, and now the entire Institute is set on paperclips for years. The Archival Assistants took to using them in decoration, long strings of them hung between desks and across doorways, annoying Jon to no end. This will all make sense when you get to one line in this chapter. ;)
> 
> CWs for mentions of canonical deaths, panic attacks, and NSFW humor.
> 
> It's all done now and in edits so we're almost there folks! 
> 
> gummies has been an absolute blessing, taking on Beta'ing this during all this madness. :)

They were in the middle of the small shop in the village when Martin broke. It started with, of all things, a box of tea. The statements had arrived. With Jon freshly _fed_ and, in his own words, ‘less of a danger to the general populace’, he had decided to join Martin on his trip down to the village to pick up a few things. They had stopped at the phone to call Basira first. After several long discussions about it, Jon had decided he had to tell her about Daisy, even if it was painful. She deserved to know she was alive, and if she did manage to find her, she should know what she was up against. Basira had listened to the story, asked a few questions about Daisy’s new attributes, and then thanked him quietly before hanging up.

In the shop, Martin knocked another box off the shelf as he grabbed a couple of packages of their normal brand. Jon picked it up, but he didn’t move to put it back immediately. Martin recognized the label. “We had a box of that in the back of the cabinet in the break room. Not sure where it came from. Never saw anyone drinking hibiscus tea.” Martin heard a gasp from behind him.

“It was Sasha’s.” Jon said, voice soft with awe. He looked up at Martin with tears in his eyes, but a small smile curled on his lips. “Martin...I remember her...the _real_ Sasha. I can See her. She- she was wonderful! Smart and kind and so much more out-going than the thing that…”

Martin took the package from him and held it close. “Will you...what did she look like?”

“She was about my height. Dark hair that was curly and just _huge!_ She could never completely tame it. She- she had teal wingtip glasses. And so many freckles,” Jon laughed. “She had you beat by miles. And she wore skirts almost every day, but only if they had pockets-”

Martin could almost picture it. Tim grinning broadly, with his arm thrown around the shoulders of a short woman with her hands tucked into the pockets of a bright yellow skirt. Almost...but the face was still a blank. Tim’s expression stood out in stark clarity, almost unrecognizable compared to the bitter, broken man he had become.

The image vanished as something splashed onto the box in his hands. He stared at it for a moment, blinking fast as the image seemed to blur more. This time a fat, warm droplet hit his wrist. His free hand brushed against his cheek, and his brow furrowed when it came away wet. He couldn’t be crying. He hadn’t been able to since…

He tried to warn Jon, but all he got out was a small desperate noise before he was drowning. 

It wasn’t like a flood of memories. This was far more physical than that. He wasn’t in the shop anymore; he was standing next to Tim’s grave, the only one among the confused, grieving crowd that knew why he’d been in that building. Martin was curled up, sobbing in the corner of his office, trying to block out the sound of Melanie shouting herself hoarse that they had to go kill the thing in the hospital that was pretending to be Jon before it could hurt anyone else and Basira’s emotionless voice trying to talk her down. Then he was kneeling on the floor of a dim hospital room. The phone had fallen from his hands, and the tears splashed down onto the screen. He could still hear the nurse’s tinny voice- “She had plans in place, but we’ll need you to come collect her things...Mr. Blackwood? Are you still there?”

Martin wrapped his arms around his chest, trying desperately to hold the pieces of himself together. He sobbed and rocked back and forth as his world fell apart.

And still Jon didn’t wake. 

Then he was standing by an open grave, watching his mother’s casket as it lowered slowly. This was the moment. This was when he had hollowed himself out and filled it with blessed, numbing cold. He reached for it now, but the fog refused to answer. He tried to cry out, but all he managed was a choked sob.

He was alone. He was so utterly alone, and he couldn’t breathe-

But he wasn’t alone. He could feel Jon’s hands on his face, could distantly hear the concern in his voice. Martin opened his eyes and Jon was there, not lifeless in a hospital bed. Jon was saying his name over and over, trying to pull him back to the surface.

At some point, Martin had dropped the box of tea, and he crushed it as his knees gave out. He hit the ground hard, but felt no pain beyond the ocean of pure _grief_ that had somehow been compressed into the space of his chest.

Then Jon was there, too, and he cried out with the scared voice that Martin still couldn’t force out of his throat. Martin clutched at him. He’d be swept away in this torrent if he didn’t hold on. But, for the first time, Martin knew for sure that Jon wasn’t going anywhere. He was struggling to shift them both, but Martin couldn’t control his limbs enough to aid in the effort. Jon managed it eventually, however, easing Martin off of his bruised shins and onto the floor, resting his weight against him. His arms held Martin tight to his chest while he murmured small reassurances into his hair.

“Goodness, is everything alri- oh! _Martin,_ dear, what happened?”

He recognized the voice and its worry, but he was too focused on getting air into his lungs to acknowledge it.

“Ah, Maggie! Yes, yes- we’re fine. Just…” He could feel Jon flailing for an answer to the shopkeeper’s concern. “Panic attacks! They can come on a bit suddenly sometimes, but we’ll be alright!”

“My, the poor...What can I do? Do you need anything?”

“Ah- just some space for a few minutes, please.”

“Of course!” He could hear her footsteps retreat, and her soft whispered, “Oh, poor, sweet Martin.”

He sobbed again. He wasn’t that Martin anymore. He wasn’t the kind of man that people liked because he was thoughtful and nice to them when he didn’t need to be. He was someone who yelled at the person closest to him because it felt good. _Sweet Martin_ could never have left a dozen men to wander the fog forever and simply rolled over to curl into Jon when he woke up hearing their screams.

Jon was still whispering into his hair as one hand held him close and the other rubbed gently on his back. Martin couldn’t follow most of it, but he let the tone sink into his frantic brain, lulling it into some sort of calm. He sucked in a breath after breath until the sensation of drowning passed. His sobs tapered off, and still Jon held him.

“I-I have you, Martin. I’m here; I’m right here, okay?” Jon’s words were soft and comforting, but Martin could feel his heart hammering through the shirt his face was pressed into. When he pulled back a little, he could see that there were tears on Jon’s face as well. Jon blinked them away and pushed Martin’s hair back from his forehead. “Hello there...are you- are you back with me?”

Martin nodded slightly, and Jon exhaled in relief. He pressed their foreheads together and whispered, “You scared the _hell_ out of me.”

Martin mumbled an apology, but Jon shushed him. “Do you think you can stand?” he asked, pushing back.

With Jon’s assistance, he got back to his feet. Martin may not have felt it at the time, but the pain in his legs was there full force now. Jon tucked himself under Martin’s arm and helped him limp towards the end of the aisle. Maggie appeared as they approached.

“Are you hurt, Martin?”

His voice was raw and cracked, but he still managed a response. “No, just sore I think.”

“Oh, that’s good! Regardless though, boys, this is William, my husband. He’s got his truck outside, and he’s going to take you home.” She motioned to the tall man in a flannel jacket by the door, whose bright red hair and bushy beard were streaked with white.

They both started to protest, but she cut them off. “I absolutely will _not_ have you walking all that way after that fall and the scare you both just had. No arguing!” They glanced at each other and then nodded. She shooed them towards the door. Silently, William opened it for them and motioned to an ancient pickup parked near the entrance. 

Jon had just pulled open the truck door when Maggie reappeared with a canvas bag loaded with the things that had spilled from their dropped basket. Jon started to protest that they hadn’t gotten a chance to pay, but she pushed past him and tucked it into the floorboard of the truck. “You can take care of it the next time you two are in. I threw a few other essentials in there, too. Now, you get him home and take care of him, okay?” She smiled at Jon and squeezed his shoulder. When she turned to Martin, she reached up and laid a hand softly against his cheek. “You go rest, dear.”

The tears were threatening again so Martin just nodded and ducked his head so he wouldn’t have to see the concern on her face. She patted his cheek and went back into the store. Jon climbed into the truck first, settling into the center of the bench seat. Martin squished in next to him and closed the door just as William started the engine.

He expected a tense silence for the ride home, but they were barely outside the village when William spoke in a deep, soft voice, thick with the Scottish accent. “Our boy, Wil. He’s down at uni in Leicester now. He started having attacks like that when he was 15 or so. Took us a long time and several docs to find the right combination of meds and therapies to help. Maggie was scared when he left for school that the stress would bring them back, and it did- not like before, but there’ll be a break through one every few weeks. She feels helpless, us being so far away and all... Not that I’m glad this happened to you, lad, but thank you for letting her help you out. I think it made her feel better.”

Jon squeezed his hand. Martin hadn’t realized their fingers were laced together until that moment. “She was very kind. We really appreciate her help- and yours.”

There was a slight pause before William continued, just a little awkwardly. “Wil’s, ah, got himself a boyfriend now. I worried about him getting too wrapped up in it when he’s still dealing with the stress of his first year, but Sean...he’s been a big help. He called to talk to us so he’d know what to do during one of the attacks, and he makes Wil call us every week to check in. It’s been really good to know that Wil has someone there for him. It’s nice that, um, you two have that too.”

Martin had his face pressed against the cool glass window, but he could just see the reflection of Jon’s face. His eyes were wide and cheeks flushed. He stammered out, “Yes...it’s, ah-” Martin ran his thumb across Jon’s knuckles and watched his reflection smile softly. “It’s certainly not something we take for granted.”

William hummed an acknowledgement and drove the rest of the short trip in silence. He pulled up right in front of their door and shifted the truck out of gear. “Here you go, lads. Make sure you stop by to let us know how you’re doing the next time you’re in town. Maggie will worry, otherwise.”

Martin headed inside while Jon thanked William for his help and promised again to pay for the groceries when they came to the village next time. He stopped just inside the door, unsure of where to go next. There was a pounding in his temples that matched the pulse through his bruised legs, and his brain was sluggish. Suddenly he felt a feather-light touch on his shoulder, and then Jon was beside him, closing the door to the cottage.

“Come on. I’ll make us some tea and put away the food. You sit at the table, and then we’ll go lay down for a bit, alright?”

He nodded gratefully and allowed himself to be guided to the small table in the kitchen. He watched Jon move about the room, first putting the kettle on and readying the cups before putting the groceries away. He had just pulled the last item from the bag when Martin opened his mouth to speak, but Jon cut him off. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.” His mouth snapped shut, and Jon shook his head. This bottle must have been something Maggie had included, because Jon didn’t seem to know what to do with it. He stared at it for a moment before stuffing it back into the bag and pushing it to the back of the counter. He carried the two cups to the table and sat down across from him. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Martin.”

“That was embarrassing, and I worried Maggie, and then William had to-”

“All of those things are trivial. They don’t matter. The only thing that matters is if you’re okay now. _Are_ you okay now?”

“I think so.” The tea was warm and comforting in the way that only a perfect cup could be. His mind was slowly starting to clear. “I don’t know what happened. We were talking about Sasha, and I was sad that I still can’t remember her face. Then it was just... _all_ of it, at once.”

Jon reached across the table and placed his hand over Martin’s. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to...I’m sorry, Martin. I- I Looked and I saw what you were feeling. I was so scared and you couldn’t talk. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Oh.” Martin squeezed his hand. “It’s alright. I told you that your powers don’t bother me as long as you aren’t using them to hurt yourself.”

“I know. It’s just that I try so hard to keep them away from you. You deserve privacy. Christ, it was just _so_ much.”

Martin huffed out a laugh. “You did warn me that I hadn’t processed it. Guess this was the Lonely’s way of letting me know it won’t protect me anymore.”

“It feels strange to be happy about that given what just happened.” Jon looked down at the cup in front of him and swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry...I’m so sorry I wasn’t there- that I didn’t wake up. I didn’t know that you were with me when you got the call. I wish…”

There were tears in his voice now. “I know,” Martin reassured him. “Me too, but we can’t exactly change what happened. You’re here now, and you have no idea how much that helps.”

They were quiet for a few moments before Martin whispered a confession he hadn’t even fully realized he was going to make. “I know it doesn’t make any sense, but _I miss her._ I hadn’t seen her in so long. She wouldn’t let me in...no matter how many times I went. And the few times we did speak on the phone, she was _awful_. But she was my mom, Jon, and I miss her.”

Jon stretched forward and moved his hand up to Martin’s cheek, swiping a thumb across the fresh tears there. “I know you do, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You loved her no matter what, and if she didn’t accept it, then that is _not_ your fault. You loved her as much as she’d let you. That is amazing, Martin. That you had the ability to love like that.”

Martin didn’t know how to respond, but he did know that there was no way he’d be able to speak without sobs coming out instead. So instead, he closed his eyes and pressed his cheek into Jon’s touch, focusing on the slow trace of the rough thumbpad against his skin. Once the hitch in his breathing had eased and his grip had loosened on the cup, Martin opened his eyes to find Jon still looking at him. This wasn’t the way he’d stared when he was thinking of kissing him...This was so much more. Jon loved him. For a moment, Jon’s face showed it so clearly that Martin could no longer doubt it. Then the mask fell back in place, and Jon gave him a small, reassuring smile. Martin had told him so many times in those early days that it hurt to see Jon want him. Even now, Jon was holding himself back to take care of him. 

This time, however, it hadn’t hurt to see. Martin’s chest had tightened for an entirely different reason.

“You must be exhausted. Why don’t we go take a nap?”

“You don’t have to-”

“I’m not leaving you alone, Martin. I’d just worry about you if I stayed up.” 

Jon stood and took the cups to the sink. Martin took a deep breath.

“I remember why I fell in love with you.”

Martin watched Jon’s body stiffen as he set the cups down. He exhaled slowly and turned back to Martin, leaning against the counter. “I’d like to hear it, because I still have no idea what you were thinking.”

His heart was hammering in his chest, but he wanted Jon to know this. “My whole life before the Archives was filled with people who were supposed to care for me, and- and just _didn’t._ Then you, who had absolutely no reason at all to care about me, the last person I expected it from- you _did._ You believed me, and you fought to get every protection you could think of for me. It was so unexpected, and it made me realize...I hand out my concern, my care to anyone, because it makes me feel useful. You don’t. You reserve it for only the people you choose to show it to, and you chose me. And your care isn’t soft like mine, it’s- it’s _fierce_ and _protective,_ and God, you made me feel so _special_ , that I was worth your concern. I know you don’t care freely, but when you do, it’s so damn beautiful, Jon.” Martin curled his hands into fists on the table in front of him and watched as his knuckles turned white. “I want it back. I want... _this._ I remember why I loved you. I can still see it, and it takes my breath away. But there’s something missing. I can remember it, but I can’t _feel_ it.”

Jon crossed the kitchen and tipped his chin up to look at him. There were tears just starting to spill over his lashes. “Martin, you _are_ special. If you want it to come back, then I hope it does, but even if that doesn’t happen, I can be happy just knowing that you understand what you mean to me. That’s more than enough.”

Martin nodded slowly. “I do. Thank you for showing me, even when I act like I don’t want to see it.” Jon returned his small, hesitant smile, thumb brushing along his jawline before he pulled his hand back.

“Come on. If I’m exhausted, I know you have to be.” Jon offered his hand, and Martin took it, letting himself be tugged to his feet and led towards the bedroom. Jon nudged him to sit down on the edge of the bed and knelt in front of him to slide off his shoes. Martin had to bite back a laugh as an image of what the old him would have thought about Jon on his knees in front of him flashed through his mind.

“Martin?”

“Hmm?”

“I heard that.”

Martin snorted. “I mean, it would have been hilarious. I doubt I could have gotten out a full sentence if I tried.”

Jon rolled his eyes and toed off his own shoes as he walked around the foot of the bed. “Oh, just lay back, will you?”

Martin couldn’t stop it this time. He was still curled over, laughing when Jon crawled into bed behind him. 

“Martin, shut up and come to bed.” He could hear the mischief in Jon’s voice, and his laughter died off as a shiver went up his spine. He rolled over to find Jon smirking at him. “Come here.”

He curled up against Jon’s chest and felt the arms wrap tightly around him, settling with Jon’s fingers sliding gently through his hair. After a moment, Jon spoke again. “So, would now be an appropriate time to tell you that one of the ‘essential’ items Maggie sent us is a rather disturbingly large bottle of lube?”

Martin’s eyes shot open. _“Wh-_ excuse me?!” Then, morbidly curious: “How large?”

“Think Tim-Stoker-Amazon-order large.”

_“Christ._ ”

Martin broke first, laughing hard enough that he was crying again, but Jon was right behind him. He fell back against the pillows while Martin hid his face against Jon’s side.

“I’m never going to be able to look her in the face again,” Martin wheezed.

“We could always lean into it,” Jon’s voice was breathless and interspersed with giggles. “In honor of Tim. We could pick up another bottle the next time we’re in, as if we’d gone through the first already.”

“Oh, God, that is absolutely something he would have done.” Martin wiped his eyes with Jon’s shirt, ignoring the loud noise of protest. “Seriously, Jon, if you could actually make it through that straight-faced, I’d…” 

He was still searching for a reward worthy of that performance, when Jon raised his head and looked down at him. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively asked in a deep voice, “You’d what?”

Martin scowled at him and pushed his face away with his palm, which sent them both back into fits of laughter.

“I’d do all the cooking,” Martin finally managed.

Jon scoffed. “You win in that situation too. My cooking is atrocious. You can do better than that, Martin. I mean we’ll have two industrial-sized bottles of lube...the possibilities are truly endless.”

“Stop, please...Jon, I can’t _breathe-”_ Martin rolled to his back, letting the tears stream from his eyes. 

Slowly, their laughter began to die down to random giggles.

“He never would have believed we would be joking about this,” Jon said quietly. Martin turned his head to look at him. There was a bit of sadness in his eyes, but his smile was genuine. He rolled over so his cheek was resting on Jon’s shoulder.

“He would have faked being offended and then suggested ten ways we could make it so much worse.”

Jon grinned. He stretched his neck and kissed Martin’s forehead lightly. “I needed that.”

“Me too.”

His legs were still sore, and he knew that he wasn’t finished with the grief. But his face hurt from smiling, and his sides ached from laughing. It was a wonderful pain he hadn’t known in longer than he could remember.

He awoke sometime later to fog drifting slowly around the bed. It was thin, barely a haze, and Martin could make out the gleam of the late afternoon sunlight coming through the front windows. The cold air left a light layer of moisture on his skin, but he could still feel the warmth of Jon next to him, the weight of the arm that was thrown across his stomach, and the solid presence of their legs tangled together. He buried his nose in Jon’s hair and smiled. “Fuck off.”

Martin didn’t need to open his eyes to know that the fog was gone. There was nothing now but warmth and the smell of Jon’s shampoo. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maggie's got her priorities in order. She knows what's essential while basically quarantined in a Scottish cottage. :)


	7. Desire and a Welcomed Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin was lost in the press of soft skin and quickened breaths. He couldn’t think beyond the hands that clutched at his back and the sound that rumbled through Jon’s throat, vibrating into him as his lips brushed against the sharp Adam’s apple there. Jon breathed out his name, voice thick with something Martin had never heard from him before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the chapter count changed, because this one refused to offer up any reasonable break points. So welcome to the chapter that wouldn't end! We're heavy into the squishy fluff now.
> 
> CWs for some hardcore cuddling, lesbian monster drama, Maggie up to her shenanigans again, and mentions of a previous humiliation kink.
> 
> This one was a beast. All hail gummies for Beta'ing this unruly thing.

Martin was lost in the press of soft skin and quickened breaths. He couldn’t think beyond the hands that clutched at his back and the sound that rumbled through Jon’s throat, vibrating into him as his lips brushed against the sharp Adam’s apple there. Jon breathed out his name, voice thick with something Martin had never heard from him before. He let his hand slide along the soft material of Jon’s t-shirt before slipping under it. His fingers skimmed along the bumps of the worm scars and traced along Jon’s ribs. That earned him a gasp, followed quickly by a hand laced tightly in his hair.

When he gripped the bare skin of Jon’s hip, the other man’s voice became more insistent.

“Shit, no, this- Ah, wake up, Martin!”

He came out of the hazy warmth of the dream to find that he was still pressed _entirely_ too close to Jon. Martin was half on top of him, his weight pushing Jon into the mattress. His face was buried in the crook of Jon’s neck, and his hand was under the waistband of Jon’s pajama bottoms, fingers pressed hard into the skin over his hip. Jon’s arms were around his shoulders, nails of one hand digging into his back and the other still buried in his hair. Their legs were tangled together; one of Jon’s thighs pressed tight between his, nudging against…

 _Shit_.

“I’m sorry, Martin. I thought I was dreaming...”

“I-how are _you_ apologizing for this?” He should move, but Jon still hadn’t released his grip. 

“Because I didn’t wake up sooner. Because I let it get this far when you were clearly dreaming about- er. Were you dreaming about... _this_?”

“...I was dreaming about you.”

Martin felt the pulse pick up where his nose was pressed under Jon’s jawline, and the fingers threaded through his hair tightened a little. “Martin...is this-” 

He huffed out a laugh. Under him, he could feel Jon shudder as the warm air ghosted over his throat. “Yeah, I’d say it’s back.”

At the words, Jon tensed, his thigh moving just enough to make Martin gasp. His grip clenched, pulling Jon forward slightly. He wasn’t aware of the pressure against his abdomen until a small moan escaped Jon before he could cut it off.

Jon let out a frustrated laugh, voice rough and slightly breathless. “Of course, it would pick now to-”

“Fully participate?” Martin finished for him.

“Indeed.” Jon’s hand flexed, pulling the hair in it just hard enough that his mouth fell open with a low groan. Jon’s head tilted back a little, exposing more of his neck. Martin nuzzled into it before he could stop himself.

“Sorry...I- I really should move.”

“Probably, but Christ, Martin...I didn't- you just feel so _good._ ”

Martin was still trying to get his mind to process that sentence when Jon’s hand traced softly up his spine before resting on the back of his neck. “Would it be so bad if we didn’t stop? If we got to have something...it wouldn’t have to mean-”

And Martin could see it. How easy it would be to press Jon back into the mattress with hard kisses and make him gasp his name in that deep, desire-roughened voice that he’d never heard before tonight. But this was important. This was something that they had to get right, that _he_ had to get right. He felt the flicker of anger in his chest. This part should have come later, after they’d worked out the rest and had time to talk about what this could be. If Jon was trusting him enough to let him touch like this- to offer him more, he had to know.

**“What do you want it to mean, Jon?”**

The compulsion was weak. He could feel that, but he knew Jon was distracted and not expecting it.

“Everything,”

Immediately, Martin's head was yanked back almost painfully by the hand fisted in his hair. He could just see Jon’s face in the faint moonlight, twisted in confusion and anger.

“Did you just- What the _hell,_ Martin?!”

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t sure you were thinking clearly enough to answer, and I needed to know-”

Jon pushed his shoulder roughly and, when Martin rolled off of him back onto his side, turned to face him. “I don’t care that you used it on me. You shouldn’t be able do it at all!”

“I know you don’t want me to have this...but I had to, Jon. I couldn’t think straight, and I can’t mess this part up.”

“What do you mean?” 

“This isn’t just sex for you- or me...If you let me touch you, that _means_ something! Something important to me! It means that you trust me, that you feel what I still don’t- _can’t_ -” He ran a hand hard over his face, fingers digging into his cheeks painfully. 

“Hey,” Jon grabbed his hand and held it between both of his. His ire bled away as Martin’s flared. “Why are you angry?”

“Because I want it to mean everything too! I don’t want to touch you until I can feel all of it. So why did this part have to come back first?! This was never what it was about for me- God, most of my fantasies about you were just getting to _kiss_ you, let alone...”

Jon smiled and brushed his thumb across Martin’s cheek.

“What if it never comes back, Jon?” He could hear the fear in his own voice.

“Then it doesn’t.” Martin scoffed at that, but Jon firmly turned his face back so that they were eye to eye. “Do you care about me, Martin?”

“Of course I do! More than anything, but it’s not-”

“Do you want me?”

Martin swallowed. “I think that’s a pretty obvious ‘yes’.”

“Are you happy here with me?”

“ _Very,_ ” Martin pressed into the touch.

“I am too...so let’s be happy! We don’t have to wait for anything. We're here, we're safe, and we're together, which is a miracle in and of itself. I don’t care if there's a piece missing. There’s so much that we _do_ have, Martin. I don’t need anything more to be happy with you. How could I want more than to know that you care about me as much as you possibly can? You, exactly as you are- you’re enough for me.”

Even when he was whole, before he’d been broken and the shattered pieces cobbled back together into some semblance of an actual person, no one had ever told Martin that he was enough. Not a single time in his life had he felt like he was not lacking in some way, that he didn’t need to be more than himself for someone to care.

Yet, when Jon said the words, he accepted them immediately. It was as if a weight he hadn’t known he’d been carrying was suddenly taken from him. He took a shaky breath, the relief palpable.

“Martin, you’re crying...did I say something wrong?”

Martin grinned at him through the tears. “No, no. You said everything right.” He pushed forward to rest his head against Jon’s forehead. “Let’s be happy. I don’t want to wait anymore either. If this is enough for you, then it’s more than enough for me.”

Jon smiled, tilting his chin to run his nose along Martin’s. 

“Before we get distracted again...would it be alright if we held off for a bit on, ah, this part? I want- I don’t know... _more_ than this first, I guess.”

Jon was looking at him with wide eyes, and it took Martin a moment to realize he wasn’t breathing. He couldn’t see the tears in Jon’s eyes until he took a shuddering breath and they spilled over his lashes as his eyelids slid shut.

“Jon?”

“No one has ever told me that they wanted to hold off on this part, because the rest of it is more important. Martin...you- do you know what that means to me? I’ve never been at the start of this without that pressure hanging over me, but you just…” Jon ducked his head under his chin, and Martin could feel the tears soaking into his shoulder.

Martin whispered against his hair, “The rest of it is everything, everything that matters. When this part does happen, I want it to be when I don’t have to be nervous. I won’t have to worry about doing something that will push too far or be too timid to know what you want, because I’ll know you.”

Jon made a small noise and moved to press in closer to him again. Martin quickly put a hand on his chest. “Um, sorry to ruin the moment, but I, uh, I don’t think that would be a good idea yet.”

Jon pulled back and with tears in his eyes, arched a brow at him. “Still, really?”

“Oh, come on! It's been, like, a year!” Of course Jon’s voice got deeper and sexier when he was aroused. Martin’s simply got squeakier. 

“That’s fair, I suppose. Um, what do you...need?”

“Five minutes in the bathroom with you _not_ knowing what was going on.”

Jon laughed. “Pretty sure that ship has sailed, but I can distract myself enough that I don’t _See_ what is going on.”

“Wha- that’s a thing?!”

“How do you think I kept finding you in the Institute? I’d think about you, and for a moment, I could see what you were doing.”

“What all did you see?” Martin’s voice had now achieved an octave even he wasn’t aware he could hit.

“Mostly just you at your computer, occasionally reading a statement. Once, I caught you drooling on a stack of papers when you’d fallen asleep at your desk. Ah- that sounds a bit creepy, now, doesn’t it...It wasn’t on purpose, truly. You crossed my mind a lot. Embarrassingly so, and a few times that translated into seeing you for a few seconds.”

“Ok, so then _definitely_ distract yourself, please. I’d rather that not happen right now.” Before he could think too much about how awkward this whole thing was, Martin rolled out of the bed. He saw the room around him light up faintly as Jon picked up his phone. “Oh, and here.” He tossed his earbuds from his nightstand at Jon’s chest.

Jon smirked at him. “Planning on-”

“Do not finish that sentence if- Oy! Eyes up here!”

Jon actually giggled at that. He plugged the headphones in and rolled to face the opposite wall while Martin headed toward the bathroom.

It didn’t even take five minutes. 

“Better?” Jon whispered teasingly, pulling the headphones out as Martin climbed under the covers again.

“Oh hush, you.”

“Is it safe to snuggle again?”

Martin answered by pulling Jon across the bed and tucking the smaller man’s back in tight against his chest. “Your virtue is safe for the moment.”

“Good to know.” Jon laced his fingers with Martin’s hand where it was slung over his waist.

“So, did the distraction work?”

Jon paused. “Good night, Martin.”

“Wait, what?!”

* * *

Jon was up first, as usual. Martin found him on the couch with the crossword book. He stopped to lean over and press a kiss to Jon’s temple. He was rewarded with a broad smile and fingers that lingered on his as he walked away. He headed into the kitchen to get breakfast started and pour himself a cup of the coffee that Jon had already made. The bacon was just starting to crisp when he felt arms wrap around his center. Jon tucked himself under the arm not currently busy with cooking and rested his chin on Martin’s chest, looking up at him. 

Martin couldn’t help the smile that slowly crept onto his face as Jon just stood there, watching him concentrate on their food. Unfortunately, he was going to have to make him move soon; the bacon was almost ready to come out of the pan and the eggs to go on.

“Martin?”

“Hmm?”

“Your freckles are back.”

He pulled his chin back to look down at Jon. “We’ve gone on a lot of walks. They’re probably just new freckles. Gingers and sun don’t exactly get along...not that I’m really a ginger anymore, though I still got stuck with the complexion of all things.”

“No, they’re definitely yours. India is back.”

Martin stopped trying to extract himself from the arms around him. “I’m sorry, _what_?”

Jon blushed, but didn’t look away. “When we were stuck in Document Storage together, when Prentiss attacked- Well. I’d never been that close to you before, and I noticed that there's a mark just here-” he pressed a finger to Martin’s cheek, below his right eye- “where several freckles have merged and, ah, they’re in the shape of India? That’s actually how I noticed they were disappearing. It wasn’t there the first time I saw you, after the hospital. But it’s back now.”

Jon surprised him by stretching up onto his toes and kissing the spot. Martin was pulled away from staring down at him by a particularly loud pop from the bacon grease.

“Shit, the food!” Jon dodged out of the way as Martin lunged to rescue their breakfast. Jon spent the rest of the short time it took to finish the cooking laughing from a safe distance.

“Just for that you’re getting the worst of the burnt bacon.” Martin teased as he plated the food and set it on the table. Jon sat opposite of him and immediately reached out to link their hands.

“Worth it to see that look of panic on your face,” Jon said, still laughing.

“Did you honestly notice that one particular freckle was missing?”

“It’s a very impressive freckle, Martin.”

It didn’t take him long after breakfast to realize that Jon was following him. He went out to pull their laundry off the line, and Jon wandered out with him, despite there only being a few shirts and pajamas to bring in. Then he trailed after Martin into the bedroom to fold the clothes and put them away. He didn’t help, just lounged on the bed and watched. He even followed him into the kitchen to make a list of things they needed from the shop. While leaning over in the pantry, Martin said casually, “So, are you just particularly clingy today, or is there something you need?”

“Oh! I, uh, well, I just didn’t want to be too far away from you...in case-”

“The Lonely isn’t coming for me today.”

“It seems particularly pissy after something good happens for us. I thought...well with something _this good_ , it would be best if we were close to each other.”

Martin stood and leaned against the doorway. “I certainly don’t mind you being near, but it isn't necessary. I don’t think it took kindly to me turning down its offer and then telling it to fuck off.”

“I don’t expect it di- wait. When did you tell it that?”

“Woke up during our nap after what happened at the shop, and there was some fog hanging around us. But it was weak, and I was warm. Didn’t feel like it was even worth the effort to be worried about so I told it to bugger off. And it worked.”

Jon was staring at him with his mouth hanging slightly agape. “Just- just like that? It just went away...no supernatural powers needed or _anything_? You just told it to fuck off, and an ancient dread power listened?”

“Pretty much.”

“But how do you know it won’t come after you despite- or _because_ of that?”

Martin took a moment to examine the absence. He felt better, like an entirely new person, but it wasn’t that anything new had returned. This was the lack of something that had been with him since his earliest memories, as an only child in a house where the silence grew louder each day. It had clung to him as he cared for a bitter, hateful woman and politely declined offers for after hours drinks with coworkers, too afraid he’d slip up and the lie that was his life would be revealed. It was the only part of him that had expanded under Peter’s tutelage, growing denser and denser, until all of his mind bent under the weight. Then, last night, Jon had spoken a single sentence and freed him.

“I’m no good to it anymore. For the first time...ever really, I don’t feel alone.” 

Jon pushed himself off the table where he had been sitting and crossed to Martin. He buried his face against his chest and wrapped his arms around Martin’s waist. “No, you are _not,_ and if I have anything to say about it, you won’t ever be again.” Jon’s voice was soft with emotion, but laced with an utter surety that brought tears to his eyes. As if there was not a doubt in Jon’s mind that he would be by Martin’s side for the rest of their lives. 

He laid his cheek against Jon’s hair and hugged him back. 

“Well, now I want to be near to you for an entirely different reason.” Jon’s voice was muffled, but he could feel the grin against his chest. 

They settled into the couch, Jon with the crosswords and Martin with a book. Martin was sitting with his feet propped on the coffee table, and Jon was tucked under his arm, back pressed to Martin’s side and knees bent up to write against. Having one arm on the other side of Jon made turning the pages difficult, but every time he did, Jon would kiss the skin there lightly. After the third time, Martin laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about. You can’t put your freckles that close to my face and honestly expect me not to acknowledge them somehow.”

“You really have a thing for my freckles, don’t you?”

He could see enough of Jon’s cheek to know he was blushing. “Maybe…”

He stretched over and pressed his lips to the one piece of skin he could access easily, the small patch of skin just behind Jon’s ear. Jon sighed and leaned into the kiss. Martin let the touch linger for a few moments before laying his chin on Jon’s shoulder. He glanced down at the puzzle. “Any ones you’re having trouble with?”

“Ten letter word, second letter is an E, ends in a C, committed to the pursuit of pleasure.”

“Hedonistic?” Martin offered after a pause.

“Ah, ha! Leave it to the poet to have the expansive vocabulary.” He filled in the letters triumphantly.

“What in the world is deltiology?”

“Collecting postcards.”

“ _How_ do you know that?”

“I had a very boring childhood. I tried my hand at many different hobbies to pass the time.”

Martin scanned the page, and his attention caught on a word scratched into the blanks near the bottom. “That’s not your handwriting.”

“No, it’s Daisy’s. As far as I can tell, she went through the whole book and filled in the ones she knew, then set it aside.”

“I guess that makes sense. Didn’t she say that the end was her least favorite part of a case? Seems like finishing a whole puzzle would be similar. Though I can’t say that I really took her for a word game type of person to begin with.”

“She’s full of surprises. Do you know that she hasn’t missed an episode of the Archers in almost 7 years? Well, I mean besides when she was in the Buried.”

“As in that awful soap opera on the radio? You’re joking!”

“Nope, she was completely addicted to it. Even got me listening to some while we were staying in the Archives. She’d show up in my office with two cups of coffee, usually with a fair dose of Irish whiskey in each, and we’d listen together.”

“Hmm, too bad she’s missing it now.”

Jon froze. For a moment, Martin worried that he’d been careless with his words and hurt Jon unintentionally, but then Jon turned and quickly kissed him on the nose. “Martin, you are a _genius.”_

“I am?” Jon was already off the couch and moving quickly towards the bedroom.

“Come on; we’re going into town!” He popped his head back out the bedroom door even as he was pulling his pajama shirt off. “Max has a computer in the bookshop he lets customers use, right?”

“Yeah, although, I’m pretty sure the connection might still be dial-up by the looks of the thing. I think I saw a floppy disk drive on it.”

“I don’t care, as long as it can get me on the internet. Now, get dressed!”

* * *

For what felt like the hundredth time, Martin looked at his watch. Somehow only five minutes had passed since the last time he’d checked it. His foot was tapping out a nervous rhythm under the table, but at least he was keeping his fingers from drumming on the wood, even if that was by gripping them so tightly he’d lost feeling in them three watch-checks ago. Needing something to do, he popped open the latches on the first aid ‘kit’ as quietly as he could and started taking inventory on what was in it for at least the fourth time. 

His head snapped up from his task when he heard Jon begin to murmur in the living room. It was definitely a statement, but he had no way of knowing if it was Daisy’s or not. He glanced at the watch again. He only had to wait another twenty minutes or so.

After repacking the kit so that it was ready to be carried into the living room the moment it was needed, he picked up the paper covered in Jon’s scribbled handwriting. Martin still had serious doubts about whether this would work, but Jon was too excited about trying for him to push very hard against it. So he’d reluctantly agreed and promptly been kicked out of the room.

“I won’t be able to sleep with you being so nervous near me,” Jon had reasoned, and he was right. Jon had yelled at him twice in the first ten minutes for bouncing his foot so loud he could hear it in the other room. Finally, he’d drifted off, but it had taken him nearly an hour after to actually begin the dream. 

So, Martin sat at the kitchen table with the first aid supplies ready and prayed that Jon wouldn't come back injured, like last time. Or that Jon would come back _only_ as injured as he had been last time. His mind kept showing him images of how much worse it could be. Those three, parallel gashes he’d seen before over vital areas or simply covering Jon.

He was so distracted by the worst case scenarios that it took him a few beats to realize Jon had fallen silent. Martin leapt up and rushed for the living room, but skidded to a stop as Jon appeared in the doorway. He scanned him quickly, but couldn’t find any signs of violence. He looked wrung out, but gave Martin a small, tired smile.

“Yeah?” Martin whispered.

Jon nodded. “We need to get back to town quickly. She’s agreed to stay there until Basira can find her, but I don’t want to give her too much time to change her mind.” He reached for Martin’s hand. “Will you come with me? I can explain on the way.”

“Of course.”

Jon didn’t have much breath to describe what had happened as they rushed the couple of miles to the village, but Martin got the gist of it. She had charged at him again, but he’d shocked her enough by yelling out a plot twist about her favorite couple on the Archers that she’d paused. That was all he had needed. He kept giving her small tidbits of information until finally the eyes looking back at him had been Daisy’s, even if the face around them was elongated and sharpened. He didn’t go into details of what they’d said, only that he’d talked her into letting Basira come to her.

Basira picked up on the third ring. Martin could hear her voice, but not well enough to make out the words.

“I know it’s not the right day, but Basira...I know where she is. I- I talked to her.”

A pause and then more of Basira’s deep tones.

“She’s staying in a section of the Underground tunnels that aren’t used anymore, not too far from the Institute, actually. You know that little curry shop we went to for Melanie’s- Yes, that one. There’s an alley behind it, and the manhole cover back there is missing. She said if you go down it and head away from the river for about half a mile, you’ll find her.”

Jon took his wrist and squeezed it as he listened to her. Martin stepped closer so he could put another reassuring hand around Jon’s elbow. “Yeah, she’s the one that gave me the instructions. She said she’d wait for you, but I’m afraid the Hunt will try to convince her to leave. So you’ll need to hurry, but she...she warned me that the smell of you may- well. She might try to attack you. I think you’ll need to do what I did. I have some things you’ll need to say. Do you have something to write with? Okay, now, don’t laugh; I swear it worked.” He pulled the folded paper out of his pocket and read her off a few of the most recent developments on the show. Martin could hear her now that he was closer.

“Are you fu- _This_ is what got to her?!”

“Yes, it was a link to something completely human about her...and so are you. I think this'll work. And Basira,” He pressed his face to the glass of the call box; Martin stroked his thumb over his knuckles. “She wanted me to tell you something...No, not that...well, not just that. If she does attack and you can’t stop her, she wanted to make sure you knew that a headshot was the only way to take her down. Anything else she could shrug off long enough to hurt you. And if it does come to that, she’s sorry it has to be you, but she’s glad she’ll get to see you again.”

Martin watched the tear slide down Jon’s cheek, and this time he raised their hands to press a kiss to Jon’s fingers. There was silence on the other end of the line.

“Basira...I know you promised, and if she can’t be saved, I want you to do what you need to. But we have to at least try! She deserves that much. She’s still in there…”

Martin could just make out Basira’s soft “Okay.” 

“I need to know that it worked. How will-”

He could tell by the strain in Basira’s voice that she was already gathering stuff to leave. “I’ll call this number at 9:00 tomorrow morning; be there to answer it. And Jon...if I don’t call and she’s still there when you- I know you said she hurt you from the dream. You’ll need to find out if you can do the same to her, because if I’m not around to keep my promise, you’re going to need to do it.”

Jon bit his lip to hold in a sob. Finally, he managed to say in a relatively even voice. “Yeah...I can do that for her. And we’ll be here. It’s going to work, Basira.”

“We’ll see.” There was a loud click, and she was gone.

* * *

It was 8:57. Martin leaned against the glass of the call box and watched Jon pace back and forth. He’d been a wreck all night, first excited at the prospect of rescuing Daisy and then terrified that he had sent Basira to her death. He'd oscillated between these two moods until Martin had finally coaxed him into getting a few hours of restless sleep in the early hours of the morning. He’d tucked Jon tight to his chest, arms wrapped around him to hold him in place and still the nervous fidgeting. Eventually, Jon had drifted off with one hand fisted in Martin’s shirt and his face buried against his neck.

Jon paused and scowled. “Max is coming to check on us.”

Martin turned to look over his shoulder. There was no sign of the old man coming out of the bookshop. He was just about to say so when the door opened and Max appeared, pulling on his coat and stepping in their direction. His small sheltie, Mr. Darcy, was at his side.

“I can’t do small talk right now.”

Martin pushed off the box. “You stay. I’ll handle it.” Jon gave him a small smile then resumed his pacing as Martin moved to intercept the pair.

“Good morning, Max! And hello, Mr. Darcy!” Martin knelt down to occupy the dog’s attention, knowing that the old man never went far from him. Sure enough, Max stopped a bit reluctantly, just a step from passing him.

“Good morning, Martin. Is everything alright? Jon looks a bit...disturbed.”

“He’s a little stressed, yeah. Our mobiles don’t work up here, so it’s hard to get in touch with people back home. We’re waiting on a phone call. There’s a friend that’s, um, in a bit of a tight spot. We’re hoping for some good news this morning.”

That got his attention. He stepped back to face Martin completely, eyes finally leaving Jon. “I’m sorry to hear that. I do hope you get it. Is it someone he’s close to?”

Martin paused to consider his words. “She’s his best friend.”

9:02.

“Oh...I would have thought that was you.”

Martin stammered, unsure of how to respond to that. He looked up at Max just in time to see his eyes widen in realization and the flush creep up his cheeks. “Ah, I see. You’ll have to forgive an old bachelor, Martin. I tend towards thinking all things platonic until beaten over the head with the alternative.”

“No worries, really. We were friends for years before, but this, uh, is a bit new. We’re still figuring it all out ourselves.”

“Well, I wish you luck in that as well.”

“Thanks. I- mmmph” Mr. Darcy picked that exact moment to plant his paws on Martin’s chest and began to cover his face with broad swipes of his tongue. He laughed and tried to fend off the dog, who now thought he was playing and began to bound around him barking.

The phone rang at 9:06. Martin watched Jon lunge for it, but the glass was too weathered on this side to see anything other than his vague shadow. He stood up, but was stopped from going to Jon by Max’s hand squeezing his shoulder lightly. He turned back to the old man reluctantly.

“Fingers crossed, good news is always welcomed, especially when friends are in need,” Max offered. “Oh, that reminds me! Jon had asked me to keep an eye out for something, and I think I found a book that will fit the bill perfectly. I was visiting an old colleague who’s in the hospital in Inverness at the moment, and he had me look in on his shop to see if that fool nephew of his was doing anything other than staring at his phone. And there it was on the shelf right behind his register. It’s perhaps a bit more than he had in mind, but- Oh, that was fast.”

Martin followed Max’s gaze, turning around just in time to catch Jon as he practically leapt at him. He barely got out the grunt of impact before Jon’s lips were on his. It wasn’t anything passionate, but Jon lingered there, lips stretched into a smile and pressed to his. When he pulled back, he was still smiling, but he looked a little unsure, as if he might have overstepped. Martin tried to hide that his heart was hammering in his chest. He smiled and brushed his knuckles across Jon’s cheek. His smile returned full force, and he leaned into the touch.

“Are they…”

“They’re both safe. She’s resting so I didn’t get to talk to her, but I could hear her in the background. She snores like a freight train!” Jon laughed even as tears rose in his eyes. He pressed his face harder into Martin’s palm. “They’re safe, Martin. We did it.”

Martin kissed the skin right on his hairline. “You did it.”

There was a small whine next to them. They looked down to see Mr. Darcy sitting at their feet, tail thumping softly on the sidewalk. Max was waving frantically, but silently, at the dog to get him to come back.

“Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to ruin the moment, but ah, he seems to really like Jon.”

“Of course he does.” Jon probably meant for his tone to be sardonic, but the fact that he was still smiling rather ruined the effect.

“It seems like you got your good news.”

Jon turned towards the shopkeeper. “We did.” He laced his fingers with Martin’s.

“Wonderful! I was just telling your boyfriend that I think I found a book that fits what you were asking me to look for.”

Jon stilled at the word, but then his grin grew somehow even wider. “Excellent!”

“Come on inside, and we’ll take a look at it. Now, it might be a bit more than you were looking to spend, but it’s a fine edition.”

Jon hesitated and looked over his shoulder, down another of the lanes. “Max, why don’t you take my boyfriend-” just the smallest curl of his lips on the word- “inside and sell him anything he wants? I need to pick up a few things from Maggie, won't take long.”

Jon was gone before he could protest. Martin followed Max into the small, crowded shop. He paused as he did everytime he stepped inside to breathe in the smell of the old tomes. Mr. Darcy darted past his legs and leapt up the carefully stacked piles of books to sit obediently on the counter in his usual spot. Max motioned for him to come over as he lifted a cloth covered bundle from under the register. He unwrapped it and pushed it towards him. It was a poetry collection, leather-bound and very old. 

“Jon asked me to be on the lookout for a collection of the Romantic poets, but something special, featuring in particular John Keats. This is a first printing of a 1918 compendium assembled by one of the foremost experts on the genre at the time, who happened to be particularly fond of Keats’ use of imagery and lyricism.”

Martin was speechless. He stared down at the book, but paused in reaching out for it to look at Max.

“Go ahead. Books are meant to be touched and read, no matter how precious.”

He lifted the cover gently and scanned quickly over the contents. “Max...this is…”

“Yes, I’m rather proud of myself on this find.”

“How- how much is it?”

“Well, I could tell by Jon’s tone when he said Keats, that this book is certainly not for him. Which means it is a gift, and I’ll not be the one to give away the price of a gift.” He pulled the book back towards him and rewrapped it before sliding it into a bag. “So you tell Jon to come see me the next time he’s in town, and we can settle up then.”

“This is too much-”

“Nonsense. If I didn’t have a shop to run, I’d tell you that the look on your face is enough, but sadly rent is still due. Just tell Jon to find me next time.”

Before he could stop himself, Martin reached across the counter and pulled Max into an awkward hug. It only occurred to him afterwards that this was the first time he had chosen to touch someone other than Jon since leaving the Lonely.

The old man was blushing again. He handed Martin the bag and waved him on. “Go on, go find him, and you two celebrate the good news. Enjoy the poetry, Martin.”

He gave Mr. Darcy a few more scratches under the chin and was rewarded with one final slobbery lick on his cheek. Laughing, Martin waved goodbye and headed towards Maggie’s store. He paused a few feet from the door when he saw William unloading boxes from his truck beside the building. Before he could call out a greeting and offer to help, Jon appeared from the alley to grab the next box. His jacket had been discarded, and...Well, no one would ever have called Jon muscular, but a few weeks of Martin’s cooking had taken away the malnourished look of him. Sweat had soaked through his shirt in several places and caused the material to cling to his chest and back. Martin froze and just stared. Oh, this was better than when Jon used to roll up his shirtsleeves in the Archives, which had always done _things_ to Martin’s heart rate. 

He was so busy watching that he didn’t notice when Maggie joined him.

“Goodness, you look at him the same way I looked at William when we first met.”

Martin tore his eyes away to look at her guiltily. She smiled at him and held out their canvas bag. “Jon left this on the counter.”

Martin glanced down into the bag. There was a bottle of wine, a box of Martin’s favorite biscuits...and a large bottle of lube.

“Those are the makings of one hell of a celebration.” She was grinning widely at him when he finally gathered the courage to look back up at her. “I was mentioning to Jon if you boys needed anything else, I’m happy to find it for you. Which is about the time he fled to help William. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone quite that shade of red before. He is proper English, isn’t he?” 

Martin couldn’t get his mouth to work. Maggie laughed, “Guess you both are. So, are you all set on condoms, at least? I know preferences vary on those so I wasn’t sure what to throw in the bag last time.”

“No, we don’t-” he finally managed only to have her smiling face pull down into a scowl.

“Now, Martin, you are both too old for me to need to give you the lecture on being safe!”

“N- no, it’s not that, it’s…” Shit. He couldn’t rightly tell her that they _didn’t_ when there was a massive bottle of lube in the bag explicitly indicating that they did. “It’s just that it’s been rather a long time for both of us since we’d been with someone, and we’d both been tested since so…” Not technically a lie on his part. He had been tested after the last time he’d hooked up with someone, and that had been back when Tim was around to encourage such things.

“And you trust him that much?”

“Absolutely. He...well, he risked his life to get me out of a very bad place.”

Maggie looked at him for a moment. “You two really had it rough where you came from, didn’t you?”

“It was- Yeah, it was just a lot.”

She squeezed his shoulder. “Then I’m glad you came here. You can’t get much more peaceful than this.”

They both looked up as Jon and William headed over to them. The burly man clapped him on the shoulder, and Martin had to bite back a laugh when Jon stumbled forward a step. William thanked him for the help and disappeared inside. Martin couldn’t help but grin at the way Jon was steadfastly refusing to make eye contact with Maggie. He decided to take mercy on him.

“We should probably get back so I can start dinner.” They said their goodbyes quickly and started back to the cottage. As soon as they were out of view of the village, Martin broke down laughing, bent over with his hands braced on his knees. 

“I...I can’t believe you actually went through with it!”

Jon leaned on his back, laughing as well. “Oh, God, it was awful! I was feeling good, thought ‘what the hell’, and went for it...and then she just _kept going_ ! She was asking about condoms and- and _toys_ for Christ’s sake!”

Martin was wheezing. “Thankfully all she asked me about were the condoms. Though she _did_ comment on your selections, wondering exactly what you have planned for the evening.”

“Oh- I didn’t even think about…

“That you made it look like I can be seduced by a bottle of wine and some biscuits?”

“Well, am I wrong?”

“Yes! I mean- there would obviously have to be some tea in there, somewhere.”

Jon pulled his face up for a kiss on the cheek. “We’re English. I figured the tea was just assumed.” 

They stopped to say hello to Basil and the other cows on the way. When they got back to the cottage, Martin went into the kitchen to set down the bags while Jon hung his jacket and pulled off his boots. In all the excitement, he’d almost forgotten the book. He was unwrapping it and tracing the letters on the cover when Jon walked in.

“Do you like it?”

“Jon, it’s _amazing._ No one has ever given me something like this.” 

He came over to stand at Martin’s side, reaching down to caress the soft leather. “Max did a good job. This is better than I had hoped for.” He stretched up to kiss Martin’s cheek again. “I’m glad you like it. Only the best for my _boyfriend_.”

Martin grimaced, “I didn’t actually say that word to him; he came to that conclusion all by himself.”

“Well, why not? Are you ashamed to be my _boyfriend_?” Jon was grinning at him.

“You keep looking at me with that ridiculous expression, and I will be.”

Martin cooked them dinner while Jon kept him company in the kitchen. They opened the bottle of wine with their meal and finished it in the living room when they were done. Jon was sitting on the couch facing him, knees pulled up so that he could rest his arms on them and feet tucked under Martin’s leg. 

“How in the _hell_ did you come up with a Masters in Parapsy-” Jon couldn’t even finish the question he was laughing so hard.

“I don’t know! I was desperate and young and it sounded cool.” He finished off the last of his glass and popped a biscuit into Jon’s mouth. “Hell, knowing more about Elias now, he probably brought me on specifically because of how ridiculous it was. I was so nervous I could barely put a coherent sentence together during my interview; I couldn’t believe it when he offered me a spot in the library. I kept thinking he’d realize he’d made a mistake; so I spent the next few years staying as far under his radar as I could get.”

“Must have made some sort of impression on him since he offered you a position in the Archives.”

Martin rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well, the thing is...he didn’t. I sort of _asked_ to be transferred when you took over.”

Jon stared at him for a beat before snorting. “Bet you regretted that decision almost immediately.”

“I mean, it wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it sure as hell didn’t help with the massive crush I already had on you.”

Instantly the smile was gone from Jon’s face. “What-”

“It can’t be all that surprising now that you know more about my life that I would respond not _entirely_ negatively to being spoken to like that.”

Jon stammered a few times before managing to get out, “Martin...I can’t...I won’t do that for you.”

Martin laid a hand on his. “No! I wouldn’t want you to! Not anymore. I’m not- That’s not me anymore. I don’t know if I could even tolerate it now, much less like it. And please don’t start questioning things. That has nothing to do with _us_ now. I didn’t start properly falling for you till after you were treating me more fairly. Wanting you to be mean to me, it really was just about the attraction. I was looking for confirmation of what I already thought of myself, I guess. But I don’t think that anymore...I know I’m not worthless.”

Jon’s voice hitched. “Is that how I made you feel...worthless?”

“Don’t, Jon. You’ve already apologized, and you are no more the person who said those things than I am the person who wanted to hear them. And yeah, the tone and definitely your wording most times, were too harsh. But the criticism wasn’t exactly undeserved. I was spectacularly bad at my job. I had no idea what I was doing. I was so afraid you were going to get fed up and fire me.”

Jon was still frowning, but he spread his fingers so that they slotted with Martin’s. “Then why? Why did you ask to be transferred?”

“Well...I saw you. I was coming out of one of the storage rooms near Elias’s office, and I saw you come out of a meeting with him. You looked so happy when you first closed the door, but then you got this terrified look on your face. I didn’t know what to think of it, but I was worried for you. I found out later that day that you’d been offered Gertrude’s old position. I thought...I don’t know, I thought maybe I could help, somehow? Like I said, I was already _interested_ at that point, and I guess I was hoping that I could do something to make you not as scared.”

Jon let go of his hand and leaned over to set his empty glass down on the coffee table. He shifted up onto his knees and with slow, deliberate movements, as if he was giving Martin time to stop him if he wanted, Jon settled himself across Martin’s lap. He put a hand on each side of Martin’s face and looked at him like he was trying to make sense of him.

“Let me get this straight. You lied about your qualifications and spent the next few years trying not to be noticed so you wouldn’t be fired. In the process, you became actually quite good at your job in the library, despite having no prior knowledge of the work. Meaning that you were finally relatively safe. The entire research department would have rioted if Elias had tried to fire you. Even I knew to go to you when I really needed something, despite your tendency to ramble and drop things...which I suppose makes a lot more sense now. And then you risked all of that to try to- what? Make me more _comfortable?_ ”

Martin shrugged. “Well...yeah.”

Jon’s cheeks were flushed, and his lips were stained red from the wine. And Martin thought that he had never seen anything more beautiful than when he threw his head back and laughed. “You ridiculous man! I genuinely don’t know what to do with you sometimes.”

Martin just smiled at him, and Jon’s expression softened. Martin felt the fingers on his cheeks move. Jon’s gaze began to move slowly over Martin’s face, like he was memorizing each little detail, and his hands followed, skating lightly over Martin’s temples and brows and lips. Once he was apparently satisfied, he sighed and laid his head on Martin’s shoulder. He pulled one of Martin’s hands up onto his lap and began tracing soft designs against his palm.

“My boyfriend.” No teasing lilt to the word now, just a faint hint of wonder.

Martin pressed his cheek against Jon’s hair and pulled him closer with the arm wrapped around Jon’s back. “Bout damn time.”

Jon chuckled and nuzzled into Martin’s neck.

There was still a piece missing. He could feel its absence, but at this moment Martin couldn’t bring himself to care. His chest was so full of everything else that had come back to him, good and bad, and maybe it was better that he didn’t love Jon in the all-consuming way he had before. This was him choosing to be with Jon, not helplessly drawn to him. He turned his face to breathe in the scent of Jon’s shampoo. He spent a long moment just feeling the warmth of Jon’s skin and the tingle of the wine through his limbs. 

Martin had just decided to ask Jon to kiss him again when he felt the light snore against his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually try to stick to things that aren't utterly contrary to canon, but I have a bad feeling about how Daisy and Basira's story is going to end in s5. So I decided to take the opportunity to give them a happy ending while I'm playing around in this sandbox.
> 
> Also, I do hope this did not come across as kink-shaming. It's just that this particular version of Jon, with his raging guilt, and Martin, who's trying to get used to feeling wanted, would not be in the right headspace at all for that.
> 
> Small update: edited to fix that Daisy definitely did not have access to a radio in the Buried.


	8. The Rest of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon’s face was only inches from his own, but the man seemed to be completely unaware of it. Instead he was staring above Martin’s eyes, and he reached up to run his fingers through the curls. “Your hair...it just turned redder. As I was looking at you, it came back.” His eyes finally met Martin’s, but instead of noticing the proximity, he put a hand on each of the now-burning hot cheeks. “And your eyes are green!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...that tag that mentions rated for close calls probably needs to be updated. The boys decidedly did not behave themselves in this chapter. Nothing super-explicit, or even regular explicit, but I need to put a CW here for sexy times none the less. Poem by a certain Mr. Keats. (Sorry, Martin, I'm kind of with Jon on this one. He's...meh.)
> 
> We're almost there. Final chapter will be up this weekend! Hope you guys enjoy the fluffy smut as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> I can't even tell you how much I appreciate gummies for this one. Seriously, miracles were performed with some of these sentences that fought me tooth and nail.

After that night, they fell into a comfortable routine. Jon finally admitted that perhaps not subjecting Martin to his cooking attempts was kinder than the thought of making a meal for him. He always helped with the clean up and, occasionally, with the slicing of vegetables and such (Under close supervision because, honestly, how could someone be so utterly unaware of their own body?). But mostly, Jon had assigned himself the duty of entertaining Martin during the process. He would sit at the kitchen table, letting his fingers pick a reading from the large collection of poetry. He made it look random, but each time the words were exactly what Martin needed at the moment. He wasn’t even sure that Jon was aware of the Knowing or simply didn’t wish to comment on it.

Tonight, Jon had not sat down at the table when he made his appearance with the leather-bound book. He instead hopped up onto the counter, situating himself close to the stove and Martin. He leaned over to smell the pasta sauce that was just beginning to bubble and made an appreciative noise before turning his attention to the book. 

Martin watched his eyes slip closed and his hands skim over the pages before stopping suddenly on a page near the end. Jon rolled his eyes as soon as he looked down at the words. “Keats again, of course.” 

“As it should be.”

Jon sighed melodramatically. “Well let’s see if he has anything of worth this time.”

_“You say you love; but with a voice_

_Chaster than a nun’s, who singeth_

_The soft vespers to herself_

_While the chime-bell ringeth—_

_O love me truly!_

_You say you love; but with a smile_

_Cold as sunrise in September,_

_As you were Saint Cupid’s nun,_

_And kept his weeks of Ember—_

_O love me truly!_

_You say you love; but then your lips_

_Coral tinted teach no blisses,_

_More than coral in the sea—_

_They never pout for kisses—_

_O love me truly!_

_You say you love; but then your hand_

_No soft squeeze for squeeze returneth;_

_It is like a statue’s, dead,—_

_While mine for passion burneth—_

_O love me truly!_

_O breathe a word or two of fire!_

_Smile, as if those words should burn me,_

_Squeeze as lovers should—O kiss_

_And in thy heart inurn me—_

_O love me truly!”_

The poems never pulled Jon in as much as the statements, but his cadence and diction were always perfect for the mood of the words. By the end of this one, his voice was a little breathless and raw. Martin stared at him, unable to look away from the way his nostrils flared and his breath shuddered. Jon looked up at him, and his eyes widened.

“Martin- you’re blushing!”

Frowning, he turned his attention back to dinner. “I’m always blushing. Can’t ever seem to stop…” He looked back to Jon and took in his somewhat wistful expression. “That was gone too?”

Jon nodded. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw you do it. Certainly not since we’ve been here... Maybe back at the Institute, when I told you I missed you? I figured if you made it through that conversation with Maggie without any blushing at all, it was never coming back.”

His cheeks flushed darker at this. “This is one that could have stayed away. Nothing like broadcasting every feeling you’re having at all times.”

His eyes snapped back to Jon when he felt the light brush of cool knuckles on his hot cheek. “I missed it,” Jon whispered softly. “I rather like knowing how I make you feel even when you can’t say anything.”

There was nothing out of the ordinary about this moment. Jon had looked at him just as fondly, touched him just as sweetly since they had decided to stop waiting. But there was a click in his mind as some piece fell back into place. Something warm unfurled in his chest, filling all the space in him and making his breath press out in a rush. He stumbled as Jon suddenly pulled hard on his sleeve, tugging him closer. He caught himself on the counter, and oh God...he was so close now. Jon’s face was only inches from his own, but the man seemed to be completely unaware of it. Instead he was staring above Martin’s eyes, and he reached up to run his fingers through the curls.

“Your hair...it just turned redder. As I was looking at you, it came back.” His eyes finally met Martin’s, but instead of noticing the proximity, he put a hand on each of the now-burning hot cheeks. “And your eyes are green!”

His head cocked to the side, and Jesus, he was so close now that Martin could feel his breath on his lips. Still he was oblivious. 

“They’re not quite...too much blue, still.” Jon had that same manic energy he got when he was working through a problem. “I’m going to try something.”

Before Martin could respond, he tugged him forward the last few inches and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. In the past few days, there had been many soft kisses pressed to cheeks and foreheads and hands, but they hadn’t kissed properly since that first time in the village. Jon smiled triumphantly and brushed a thumb over his cheekbone.

“There you are.”

Martin sucked in a breath, and finally, Jon noticed his distress. “I- shit, I should have asked before- are you okay? Martin, what are you feeling?”

He took two deep breaths before his mouth stretched into a wide grin. “Present tense,” his whisper was ragged.

Jon’s brow pulled down in confusion before shooting up in surprise. “Oh. _Oh.”_

Martin watched, breathless, at the cascade of changes the realization brought over Jon. His pupils went wide as his eyes shifted down to Martin’s lips, cheeks flushed a bright pink. Jon’s jaw hung open slightly, allowing his quickened breaths to ghost over Martin’s skin. The hands went from caressing to clutching as they shifted around the back of his head. Martin was already moving, straightening from where he had nearly fallen and stepping into the space between Jon’s knees. He didn’t need to be convinced to move forward, but the sharp tug on his hair definitely encouraged it. He braced a hand on the cabinet behind Jon’s head, pressing him back with a needy, fevered kiss. The noise Jon made against his mouth was downright _sinful,_ and Martin responded by pulling his hips forward on the counter until they were flush against his, so that he could lean him further back. At this angle, he could deepen the kiss even more- tongue tracing along Jon’s lips, which fell open immediately for him. He continued to explore, mapping which motions brought the small moans that vibrated into his chest.

When they finally broke for air, Jon grinned. “That did indeed feel extremely present tense.”

Martin returned the smile and cupped Jon’s cheek. “I love you.”

Jon’s eyes fluttered shut. “I know I haven’t waited nearly as long as you did to hear that, but it still feels amazing.” He kissed Martin again, just a brief brush of his lips. “I love you too, Martin.”

Then he was pushing Jon back again with the force of his answering kiss. He was just thinking about slipping his hands under Jon’s shirt when he felt Jon’s own press against the skin of his waist and slide up his ribs. He gasped, and Jon took the opportunity to slide his tongue along Martin’s. He retaliated by slipping his hand under the hem of the shirt and tracing his fingers lightly up Jon’s spine. Jon arched his back and pulled back sputtering. Martin kept him there by pushing in closer and peppering his jawline with soft kisses.

“Your hands are cold today,” he whispered against the stubbled skin.

“No, my hands have always been cold; it’s just that you’re warm again.”

Martin made a small noise but continued his exploration of the skin on Jon’s neck. He felt the rumble of the laugh through the chest pressed to his as he sucked a small bruise where the neck and shoulder met.

“You really have a thing for Keats, huh?” Martin nipped at the flushed skin, making Jon yelp before pulling him even closer. “It might almost be worth reading more of him, if you kiss me like this afterwards.”

“I’ll kiss you like this anytime you’ll let me,” Martin mumbled against his collar bone before biting down lightly. Once again, he was rewarded with a soft gasp and an arch up into the touch. He was making his way across to the other side when Jon spoke again.

“Martin?”

“Hmm?” he hummed without pausing.

“Dinner.”

The moment he said it, Martin could smell the smoke.

“Shit!” He leapt back to the stove, pulling the now scalded sauce off the burner and turning off the over-boiled pasta. Sighing, he stepped back to Jon. “Sorry, I don’t think it’s going to be salvageable.”

Jon was still grinning broadly at him. “I don’t think I’m in a state to mind.”

Martin took Jon’s face in his hands, partially because he wanted to touch him but also because he wanted the man’s lips off his for a moment. “How are _you_ feeling?”

Jon’s expression softened, and he pressed a kiss against one of Martin’s palms.

“ _Human_.”

* * *

It took some time to clean up the mess from their ruined dinner and wash the few dishes from their impromptu canned soup meal. But as soon as they were done, Jon took his hand. He turned Martin towards him and nudged him back against the counter, standing up on his toes to kiss him. Not the fevered kisses they had shared earlier- something slower, and almost more intimate, that made Martin’s hands shake as he settled them on Jon’s hips.

Eventually, Jon lowered back down to his heels. “We can wait if you’d like-”

_“No,”_ he blushed at how quickly he answered. “No- I wanted to wait for more. I don’t think I could handle feeling any more than this.”

Jon smiled and tugged him towards the bedroom. He paused outside the door. “Martin...I don’t think-” He took a deep breath and turned to face him. “I won’t be up for, um, participating much. Is that-”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Of course, always,” Jon answered immediately. So Martin did. He stepped forward and tilted Jon’s face up to his, kissing him softly. 

“Then there’s nothing else I need.”

Jon closed his eyes and pushed his face against Martin’s chest for a moment. When he looked up, there was a hint of mischief in his smile. “Well, I did have a bit more in mind than that.” He stepped into the bedroom and pulled Martin after him. 

They didn’t bother with the switch. There was enough of the soft light filtering in from the lamps in the living room to see each other clearly. Jon seemed much more sure of himself after Martin’s answer. He shrugged out of his own shirt and reached for Martin’s. “Boxers need to stay on, but the rest can go.” With that one sentence he had managed to short-circuit Martin’s entire brain. He just stared as Jon let his jeans fall to the floor and pulled his socks off. He reached for the button on Martin’s trousers. “Breathe, Martin.”

He hadn’t realized that he had stopped. He sucked the air into his lungs as Jon helped him out of his clothes. He was guided down onto the edge of the bed with a firm hand on his shoulder, and Jon stepped forward, putting one knee on the mattress beside Martin. He looked down at him and grinned. “Well. This is certainly a new angle.” He kissed Martin hard, both of them breathless by the time he pulled back. “I think I like it.”

Martin let his fingertips brush along Jon’s ribs and looked up at him for permission.

Jon shivered at the contact. “Please, I...I’d like you to touch me.”

“Should- is there anywhere besides the covered bit that I need to avoid?”

“No, the rest is all yours. Well, to be fair, _all_ of it is yours. Some of it is just... off limits at the moment.”

Martin let his eyes trace slowly down. He felt Jon’s nails digging into the back of his neck, betraying his feelings on being observed so thoroughly. “That is _a lot_ of skin I get to have.” Martin dropped one hand to wrap tightly around the back of Jon’s thigh, fingers squeezing the soft flesh just below the hem of his boxers. He tugged them closer together, so that his chest was pressed against Jon’s stomach.

Jon’s breath hitched, and Martin could feel the way Jon’s chest expanded against him, the way his heart picked up as Martin moved. Wrapping his arms around Jon, Martin’s hands slid up his back. Being held so firmly, Jon shifted his other knee onto the bed and settled into Martin’s lap. Martin stretched up to capture his mouth. He took his time, savoring the feeling of _Jon_. The skin pressed to his own, the small noises against his mouth, the way his hands clutched at Martin’s shoulders as he used what he had learned earlier to kiss Jon until he was gasping his name against his lips.

“I love you,” Martin whispered back. He shifted and pressed a kiss to one of the small, round scars that were smattered along the skin of Jon’s chest. Jon sighed and let his head fall back. Between his hands and his lips, Martin mapped Jon’s skin, taking note of every scar. Every obstacle he’d overcome to be here with Martin. Once he knew every inch, he kissed his way back up the slender neck to nip gently at the stubbled jawline. Jon met him with a fierce kiss and a deep moan. 

Jon seemed similarly determined to memorize Martin’s body. His hands had always been one of the things that caught Martin’s attention the most. Long, delicate fingers that moved oh so carefully over intricate work or flexed ever so slightly while scratching down notes on cases. Now, they traced his skin with the same precision, pausing to reexamine any area that brought out a reaction. A small moan when nails grazed along his ribs, hands clenching on Jon’s back when he tugged gently on the patch of ginger hair on Martin’s chest, biting down on Jon’s lower lip when a soft pass over his nipple turned into a firm pinch.

Jon brought both arms up and laced them firmly through Martin’s hair, bracing both elbows against his shoulders. Thinking Jon was just getting leverage to change positions, Martin was wholly unprepared for the moment Jon’s hips rolled against his. The world went white for a few seconds as the sensation overloaded his nerves. He didn’t know he had cried out until he heard the echo of it through the cottage. His nails were buried in the skin at the small of Jon’s back, but the other man didn’t appear to mind. Jon’s eyes were wide and excited, scanning quickly over his face to take in all his responses. Martin hadn’t quite caught his breath when Jon did it again. This time, he muffled his cry against Jon’s chest.

One of Jon’s hands slid out of his hair and brushed along his cheek. “Martin, please don’t hide. Can I see you?”

Martin was used to hiding from the person he was with, worried they’d see his desperation to be touched, to be _wanted,_ and think him pathetic. The motion had been automatic, but when Jon asked him, he realized he wasn’t afraid. Not this time. This was _Jon,_ who knew him utterly and wanted to be here with him. Jon, who loved him as he’d never thought he could be loved…

Martin leaned back and looked up at him. He met Jon’s intense gaze and held it. Jon brushed the sweat-slick hair back from his forehead and kissed him softly. “I- I want you, Martin. As much as I’ve ever meant that word, I mean it about you. I…I want to watch you come undone and know that _I_ made you feel that.”

Martin stretched up to kiss him again, and when Jon’s hips moved, he moved with them. Something in him told him he should be self-conscious about staring into Jon’s eyes as the rhythm of their thrusts began to increase, but he couldn’t feel it. He’d been invisible his whole life, and now he felt seen so completely that he could feel each of the pieces of himself and how they had fit back together in a way that made him more whole than he'd ever been. Jon kept his eyes locked with Martin’s while his hands skimmed over his face, tracing the flush in his cheeks, pressing lightly to his pulse-point, and brushing against his teeth where they bit into his lower lip. His breath caught at every noise he pulled from Martin. His voice was ragged when Martin asked, “Hips?”

Jon nodded, and Martin’s hands gripped the still-covered skin of Jon’s hips. The next time he thrust up, he pulled Jon down against him, _hard._ His mouth fell open as the shock of pleasure shot up his spine. Jon’s thumb grazed along his bottom lip. “You’re so _beautiful-”_

Martin’s eyes finally closed as his hips stuttered, and he cried out Jon’s name. Soft kisses were pressed to his temple as he caught his breath. 

Jon was smiling at him when he looked up, but Martin stroked his thumb along the worried crease in his forehead.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Georgie.” Jon must have realized his mistake by the way Martin stilled. _“Shit,_ no- not like that! Just...how it was at the end when things started to fall apart…”

“That’s not going to be us. We both know what we’re bringing into this, and we’ve talked about what we’re comfortable with. Are- are you worried that this wasn’t enough for me?”

Jon was looking down at where his hand was tracing patterns against the soft skin of Martin’s belly. “No, not that it wasn’t...more that there’s going to be a time when it won’t be.”

“That’s not going to happen. You know, before the Unknowing, Basira came to me with a rumor that _‘you didn’t, ever’,_ but I had no idea what that meant. It didn’t matter, though, not to me, because it didn’t change anything about how I felt about you. I wanted to be with you just as much when I thought there was a good chance you wouldn’t want me to kiss you.” He tipped Jon’s chin up to look at him. “Do you remember what you told me the night we decided to stop waiting? Because I do. You said _‘You, exactly as you are, you’re enough for me.’_ You know that the same is true for me too, right?” He laid his hand over Jon’s, pressing it flat to his chest where his heart was still racing.

“I love you.” Their overlapping whispers made them both laugh.

Martin kissed the tip of his nose. “If we’re going to have any more serious, heartfelt conversations, I’d really like to have some clean pants first.”

Jon laughed again and kissed him thoroughly.

* * *

Consciousness came slowly. Martin was surrounded in warmth and soft touches, and he knew waking up might mean leaving all that. But, with a groan, it did indeed find him anyway. His first coherent thought was surprise that Jon was still curled into his side despite the light streaming in through the window. Close on its heels was the thrill of just how much skin was currently pressed against his. Finding pajama bottoms was as much energy as either of them had been willing to expend last night; so now, Jon’s entire chest was flush against Martin’s ribs. There was a leg thrown over his, and Jon’s fingers brushed gently through the patch of hair on his chest.

It had been early when they had made their way to the bedroom. After cleaning up and changing, they’d both fallen back into bed. They talked long into the night...and kissed. They had kissed _a lot_ last night. Heated ones that came with clutching hands and nails dragged across skin, deep things with skims of teeth and slow drags of tongues that made Martin’s toes curl in memory. In the present, he heard a quiet chuckle.

“You haven’t even opened your eyes, and already you’re blushing.”

Martin grinned and tightened his arm around Jon’s shoulders. “Your fault. There was a lot last night to blush about.”

“Hmm, and which part are you thinking about now?”

“Kissing you.”

Jon shifted against him, moving up to brace himself on his elbow. “Well, that’s convenient.” He turned Martin’s chin towards him and kissed him firmly. “I didn’t want to get up without that.”

Martin laughed and pulled him close again. “You could have woken me up, if that’s all you wanted.”

Jon laid his head on his chest; he could feel the grin against his ribs. “Figured you needed your rest. That was, ah...energetic.”

“And we haven’t even _gotten to_ the two industrial-sized bottles of lube, yet.”

He could easily imagine spending the rest of his life making Jon laugh like that. He pressed his face into the silver-streaked hair. “Besides, you aren’t fooling me. You’re still here because it’s cold out there.”

“It’s bloody freezing! We didn’t stoke the fire last night before coming to bed.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s _exactly_ what we- ow!” Jon had jabbed him hard in the ribs. “Okay, okay- how about I go get the fire going, then once it’s a bit warmer, we’ll get up and make some breakfast...Well, I’ll make breakfast. You’ll watch from a safe distance.”

“And you’ll come back here while we wait?”

“Of course. How else am I going to stick my cold feet on you?”

Jon scowled at him, but it didn’t stop Martin from lifting off the pillow to kiss him. “You love me.”

Jon sighed dramatically before the playfulness bled away. “I do.” He brushed his knuckles against Martin’s cheek. “I really do.”


	9. Fear and Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear found Martin again on a brisk, sunny day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for that "...ish" tag. We've made it to the end of ep160, and we all know what that means. I don't really think there's any spoilers in this past just the s5 trailer, but proceed with caution none-the-less. There is a bit of dialogue lifted from ep160, written by the illustrious irl Mr. Sims.
> 
> CWs for canon-typical horror and violence.
> 
> gummies: Thank you! I'm so damn proud of this one, and half of that is due to your edits and encouraging words. <3

They had one perfect week together before the world ended.

Fear found Martin again on a brisk, sunny day. He’d made a trek into the village early to grab a few things from the shop and discovered that Basira’s next box of statements had arrived earlier than expected. Maggie had hugged him before he left and promised to have tea in again soon.

It was too beautiful to be inside. So, after dropping off the statements with Jon, he’d kissed him on the cheek and headed back outside. Basil was easy to find in the rolling field. She was venturing further from her mother as she grew and didn't hesitate to come running towards him the moment he was spotted. Martin tried to brace himself, but she’d gotten too big for that. She knocked him onto his ass and started nudging his jacket pockets with her nose, looking for the carrots she knew were hidden there. He laughed and shoved her away playfully. For that, he got a large slobbery tongue across his forehead.

“Okay, okay- here!” He held the carrot for her and scratched behind her ear as she bit off a large chunk.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, but Martin didn’t worry about it. The storm was far off, and he’d have plenty of time to get back to the cottage if he stayed just a little longer with the young calf. She finished the carrot and started prodding him for another. He was fishing it out of his other pocket when Basil’s head shot up, eyes darting wildly. She bolted back in the direction of her mother, and Martin watched as other cows gathered together and trotted back and forth nervously. The crack of thunder was impossibly close now, and he felt the familiar squeeze of fear around his heart.

Before he could make it back to his feet, the grass around him laid flat in a sudden gale of wind. He was thrown off-balance and stumbled forward, dropping to his knees before he could catch himself. Looking up, Martin could see the sky filling with billowing, purplish-black clouds, all rolling out from the east at a terrifying speed. Storms came from the west here, from the sea. The only thing back east was…

_ “Jon,”  _ Martin could hear the terror in his voice, but he didn’t have time for that- he was already back on his feet, running full pelt across the field back the way he had come. He fell more than once, and he was bleeding from several scrapes and cuts by the time he vaulted the fence back onto the road. In the distance, he could see the cottage. The epicenter of the storm that now blotted out the entire sky. Around him, the world lit violently as a strange, greenish lightning arced through the clouds. In that moment, he could see the figure outlined in the front window. Martin flinched as the ground shook with the force of bellowing thunder, but he didn’t slow down. 

As he got closer, his fears were confirmed- the figure was Jon. Martin could hear his voice on the wind, twisted into something deeper and powerful but no less his. The sky lit again, and he could see that Jon was standing ramrod straight, one hand clutching a sheet of paper while the other was tearing at his own throat. The lines of blood healed before he could even scratch new ones. Martin stumbled when he noticed the eyes in the air around Jon. With each word pulled from his mouth, a new one opened from nothing. Wide and unblinking, drinking in the chaos as it sprang forth. 

Martin caught himself on the small picket fence that marked their front garden. He hardly felt the pain of the wide gash it opened; he just pushed off of it and into the maelstrom of wind surrounding their home. He was close enough now to hear the words.

“ **Come to us!** ”

Martin stretched his hand forward, fingers just brushing the window ledge before he was shoved back a few inches again.

“ **_I open the door!_ ** ”

Martin was thrown backwards as the shock wave rolled out from the small cottage, and the world went black.

* * *

Martin didn’t remember standing up; yet he found himself on his feet about fifty feet from where he’d been before the blast. Only two thoughts made it through the haze shrouding his mind. 

Something was chasing the cows...Something that used to be human was chasing the cows in the field, and the sky was looking back at him.

He couldn’t make out from here if the creature’s newest prey was Basil or not, but he could hear the screams of the dying animal...but no, those weren’t sounds a cow could make. And they weren’t coming from the field. Martin turned slowly, towards the road that led to the village. He fell back a step as the wounded sound suddenly cut off in a wet gurgle.

A new thought wiped all of the madness around him from his mind.

_ Jon. _

He felt the weight of the Eye’s gaze on his back as he bolted for the cottage. Except for the front window that had shattered outwards, it looked remarkably untouched. He found Jon on the floor of their living room. There were pages scattered around him, but Martin ignored them for the moment. In his fear, he struck Jon awake. When Jon began laughing, Martin almost wished he’d left him unconscious. 

He swallowed down the anger that tried to rise in him. Jon needed him to be stable right now, and he knew he needed Jon just as badly, which meant holding it together long enough to pull him back. He forcefully turned Jon’s face away from the window. “Jon,  _ look at me. _ I need you to come back to me, okay? I see you; I still see you-”

“I see all of them. They’re all  _ afraid, _ and I can _S_ _ ee _ them-”

“I don’t care.” His voice had the same iron in it that it had that first night in the cottage. “I don’t care what else you see. I need you to see _ me. _ I love you, and  **I need you here with me** .”

He hadn’t truly meant to let the compulsion bleed into his voice, but he cried out as the crushing weight of the Eye’s gaze fell fully on him. He felt as though he was being pulled apart; each molecule ripped from him and inspected until all of him was Known. He hadn’t realized that he’d turned to the window until Jon jerked his face back towards him, and his view filled with two green-glowing eyes instead of the one that filled the sky. A hand was clamped painfully over his mouth, and Jon whispered harshly. “Don’t do that. Do not draw its interest.”

Martin nodded, and Jon removed his hand, collapsing next to him again. Jon’s eyes began to creep back up towards the sky. “No!” Martin moved up onto his knees, physically blocking Jon’s view out the window. “ _ Please _ , Jon, stay with me. Come on.” He got them both to their feet and led Jon away from the blasted window and into their bedroom, where the curtain was still pulled shut. 

Martin settled them both on the bed. It felt too vulnerable to lay down so he sat with his back to the headboard. Jon was tucked into his side, curled into the smallest ball his body would physically allow him to be. His hands were clamped over his ears, but given the tiny moans and violent starts, Martin had the feeling it wasn’t doing anything to block out the world.

He rubbed absently on Jon’s shoulders, whispering small things occasionally to remind him they were still together, but his attention was as much on the outside world as Jon’s. Screams occasionally drifted in through the broken window. A few were all too human, while some were so  _ other _ that Martin couldn’t fathom what sort of mouth could have made them. There was a low growl as the thing from the field passed by the cottage. Martin froze, heart-pounding in his chest, trying to hold Jon still until it was gone. It was headed in the direction of the village, and he remembered Maggie’s arms around his shoulders that morning.  _ Should he… _

“Martin.”

“Hmm?” His mind was on the weapons stash that they had found hidden under one of the floorboards.  _ Would any of those even work on whatever might be out there? _

“It’s too late.”

He looked down at Jon’s head, but he kept his face buried against Martin’s ribs, eyes squeezed shut tightly. “What?”

“It’s too late to save them. Maggie went through the wrong door, and now William is lost in the fog. Max…” Jon chuckled darkly, the slight reverb under his voice felt like nails on a chalkboard as it rattled through his ribs. “He’s one of us now. He stands in the window of his shop and watches as his neighbors tear each other apart. He sees it all and feels nothing-”

“Stop!  _ Please _ ,” Martin didn’t realize he was crying until he heard the tears in his own voice.

Jon’s hands left his ears and clutched at Martin’s jumper. “I- I’m sorry...I can’t- don’t know how to shut it out. I don’t know if I _ can. _ There’s so much pain, Martin, so much fear, and I- _ I  _ did this. I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

He repeated the words over and over. Jon’s whole body shook as he clung to his chest, and for just a few minutes, Martin gave in to the fear that was filling him entirely. He wrapped himself around Jon and sobbed. He didn’t need Jon’s powers to know how bad it was out there. He could hear it as the sounds of bedlam invaded their home. He could feel the pressure of the sky’s gaze even here, inside their bedroom.

His tears tapered off as he let the rage build in his chest. Their home- their  _ happiness- _ the peace they’d fought so  _ damn _ hard for, all of it just gone. Everything they’d been through, the people they’d lost, and it had changed nothing. Jonah, and Martin had no doubt that’s who was behind this, had still won in the end.

A sharp, piercing cry echoed through the cottage.

Martin pushed Jon away, and finally he looked up at him, eyes wide and frightened. The green circlets around his pupils, as well as the ones hovering in the air around his head, glowed brightly in the dim room. He put a hand on Jon’s cheek. “I’ll be right back; you need to stay here. I have to get that window covered before something gets in. I won’t be long; I promise.”

Jon nodded, but even then his eyes were drifting away from Martin, focused on some horror somewhere in the world that Martin couldn’t save him from. But, he reminded himself, he could stop anything that tried to get them here. The fear was still there, but Martin was able to move past it as he focused on protecting what was left of their life. There were boards that should cover the window in the shed out back, as well as large rusty nails and a hammer. So he got moving. He glanced at the sheets of paper strewn about, but walked past them. It didn’t matter how this had happened. At least not right now. First, he’d make sure they were safe. Then,  _ then _ he’d focus on the how so that they could figure out a way to fix it. 

It didn’t take long, just as he’d told Jon. When he was done, Martin turned to look up at the sky. It wasn’t hard to imagine Elias watching him through that giant Eye. He scowled at it. “I’m coming for you.” And he would. Jon was broken, but he would also put himself together again. Martin had no doubt of that, and just as Jon had stood patiently by his side as Martin fixed himself, he’d be there for Jon. It wouldn’t be quick, but he could be patient. He was good at waiting.

Martin had been afraid his entire life. He was scared now, but a new feeling spread through him, making his hands clench and his breath ragged. Twice now, he’d run when Jon had needed him most. He wasn’t going to run this time. This life they were building was worth fighting for, and Martin would be damned if he was going to lose anything else to Jonah _ fucking _ Magnus.

He’d felt something like this once before, back when he’d faced Elias with the still smoldering statements around him. But then, the bravery had barely been strong enough to keep him from folding in on himself before Melanie could get what they needed. Now, it coursed through him, and he grinned up at the Eye.

“I’m coming for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first of all, I follow Jonny’s rules about pets. I can assure you that both Basil and Mr. Darcy survived the pandemonium of the apocalypse. Second, I had Maggie and the other villagers in mind already when I caught that line in the s5 trailer, when Jon mentions that the village is gone, and I realized what had to be done. 
> 
> But I’m still living in full denial. Season 5 will end with them surviving and saving the world, and it will revert back to how it was the moment before Jon opened the door. They will move to the cottage permanently, and Maggie and William will be there in the village to greet them. And at some point when Maggie mentions not sleeping well the night before because her dreams were made up of impossible corridors, Martin will wordlessly pull her into a bear hug, and she’ll ask him why he’s crying. 
> 
> I’m not entirely sure I’m done with these two; so don’t be surprised if you see a few more one-shot stories pop up in the Numb AU. Thank you so much for reading and any comments you left! Every single one made me so ridiculously happy!


End file.
